


AURIBUS TENEO LUPUM

by gravityinglass



Series: POST NUBLIA PHOEBEUS [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Camp Jupiter AU, Jason Grace/Percy Jackson AU, M/M, quest setup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 00:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17714672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravityinglass/pseuds/gravityinglass
Summary: Life has never been exactly standard for Auston Matthews. Life gets a lot more complicated when he and his sisters make it across the border of Camp Jupiter and embrace their Roman demigod heritage. In this proving ground, Auston learns to manage his divine powers, learns a secret about his family he never could have seen coming, and finds out his destiny may be far and beyond that of a mere demigod.





	AURIBUS TENEO LUPUM

**Author's Note:**

> Auston’s sibs have had their names shortened to nicknames, in an attempt to circumvent Google’s all-knowing search powers. 
> 
> Secondary characters from non-NHL leagues will have a hyperlink to their Wikipedia pages.  
> This is technically set in the Percy Jackson universe. Less technically it's been years since I read the Camp Jupiter books and I threw a spin on it anyways.

 

-|-|-|-

#  AUSTON

-|-|-|-

 

Auston snarled in frustration, firing off shots as best he could with the way Lexi was driving. They bounced off the creature's skin, ricocheting dangerously. He swore viciously and went to reload. Ana was behind him, still clearly unsure of what the hell had happened to their lives in the past twenty-four hours. 

They’d been attacked by ravenous flesh-eating horses and had embarked on the literal road trip from hell between Arizona and California, and oh god was this fucked up; Ana was still only twelve years old and she barely knew how to hold a firearm, much less  _ use  _ it.

“Get moving,” Lexi snapped, pulling the car to a stop. “They’re less interested in us, for whatever reason. Get Ana through the trees and over the border.”

“Right, on it,” Auston said obediently, and grabbed Ana by the arm, hauling her out of the car and up the hill. Ana went easily enough, terrified of the bloody  _ human-eating horses  _ chasing them.

“Are we seriously trying to outrun  _ horses _ ?” she asked while running. Auston was suddenly very glad that Mama had insisted all three of them participate in track and field at school, and that they’d all shown some kind of talent at it.

“No, Lexi’s going to try to run them over,” Auston replied, and barely blinked when they heard the car horn blaring and the dull metal crunch of the van impacting with something. “I’m just banking on it not working.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring.”

“Now is so not the time for sarcasm, Ana.” Auston skidded to a stop when they reached the top of the hill and turned to assess the situation. He swore when he realized the horses were gaining on them and he only had two shots left. 

“There’s  _ always  _ time for sarcasm.” 

Ana bit back a gasp when she realized that the horses were occasionally breathing out little jets of fire. “Oh, my god. Is Lexi--”

“Now is not the time to be worrying about Lexi, either,” Auston said grimly and aimed for the horse charging up the hill at them. This time, at least, he managed to deter the horse at least a little with a shot to the horse’s neck. Out of shots and with no time to reload, he holstered his gun and drew his daggers. “Get over the border, Ana, it’s you they’re interested in.”

“Where’s the border, again?”

“Through the rocks, you’ll run into the border god. He’ll let you through.  _ Go _ , Ana.”

Ana turned and ran.

Auston took up position behind a row of trees and did his best to keep Ana’s path clear for her. He tried not to think about what he heard behind him, tried not to worry about his sisters. He could hear Lexi shouting and the dull crunch of metal. When he saw a flash of light, he breathed a sigh of relief; Ana was across the border and safe.

“Lexi,” he yelled and headed back towards where he’d last seen her. He wouldn't leave either of his sisters behind come hell or high water.

Of course, his toes caught on the rough ground and he tumbled, knocking the breath out of his lungs. It took him a minute to catch his breath and to scrabble to his hands and knees, but something warm and heavy hit him in the back and caused him to sprawl out again. His ankle twisted and burned with pain.

“Shit,” he breathed, when he looked up and was nearly face to face with the carnivorous and pissed off horse of death. “Fuck. I’m dead. I’m very, very dead.”

Auston scrambled backward, pushing as far away from the man-eating horse as he could, as fast as he could, given that his ankle was probably broken. The horse seemed as amused as a creepy horse from the deepest pits of Tartarus could be; it followed him slowly and without rush until his back hit the trunk of a tree.

Mom always said their family was lucky, being descended from the gods. She didn’t account for Auston, obviously, because at this point he was convinced that he was the unluckiest bastard alive. Auston closed his eyes and waited for the pain to come.

Somehow, it didn’t. He could hear the breathing of the horse and feel its breath on his face, and he could hear one of his brothers shouting. He braced his arms over his head--as if that would help anything--but instead of feeling teeth tearing apart his forearms, he heard the telltale sharp whistling of a bladed weapon cutting through the air. Against his better judgment, he peeked over his crossed forearms, wondering if he was about to see himself getting eaten.

Above him, the horse had been gored through the chest with some kind of spear-like weapon. The surprise on its face was obvious, and it held that expression for about two seconds before it exploded into sulfur dust all over him.

“Holy fucking shit,” Auston said faintly, still frozen.

“Aw,” a deep voice replied. “You’re welcome. It’s always nice to hear someone appreciating my superhero abilities.” The voice traveled around Auston’s side until there was a person in his line of sight. 

Well, person was putting it lightly. This dude was  _ godlike _ handsome. He had dark blond hair and a smile brighter than the sun itself. Auston was really, really queer, and had only recently come to terms with that, so seeing someone this attractive was sort of fucking him up.

Auston’s brain struggled to process the input.

“Oh,” the guy said and stopped short. “You’re older than the usual incoming demigod.”

“Um,” Auston managed, and passed the fuck out.

He woke up in what was probably a hospital. Ana was curled up in the bed beside him, clinging to her pillow and a ratty teddy bear that was definitely not her own. He carefully tested his ankle by rotating it gingerly--it didn’t hurt at all.

Had the whole thing been some crazy dream? He was in a hospital, but his ankle was undamaged and there was a lot less screaming for the fact that he’d been chased by flesh-eating horses.

He looked around the room and noted there were probably ten beds, including his own, in precise rows, with curtains drawn back to the walls. There was neat Latin lettering above the bed across from him-- _ medicas curat, natura sanat _ . It only took Auston a second to translate it in his head:  _ the physician treats, nature heals _ .

Definitely not a standard hospital then. He pushed the blankets off his legs and swung out of bed. Mom had sometimes mentioned the New Rome where she’d grown up as a daughter of Minerva, and he and Lexi had talked about taking Ana there when everything had started to go wrong four months ago. He was probably in that New Rome, then, halfway across the world from home.

The question was: where was everyone else? He knew Ana had made it across the border and was here, safe and sound, but what about Lexi?

He crossed the ward and pushed open the door, peeking out into the hallway. Lexi was slumped in a chair, a broadsword across her lap.

“Hey, Aus,” Lexi said tiredly. Her wrist was bandaged and she was rubbing slow circles into the metal of the broadsword. Auston blinked and decided not to ask what had happened to her shotgun. “You’re up.”

“You okay?” Auston asked because there were things more important than knowing where they were, or where Lexi had gotten the sword. “And Ana?”

“We’re fine. Mama's furious and Dad’s panicking, but we’re all okay. No thanks to you suddenly swooning, but you're across the border."

"You'd swoon if you were face to face with a flesh-eating fire-breathing horse suddenly turning to ash right in front of you.”

Lexi barked out laughter. “We saw a fair few of those collapsing, Aus. You’re the only one who fainted.” She stood and stretched, letting the sword dangle from her hand dangerously. “C’mon, I was only out here since I was worried about waking you and Ana up. And you should probably stay in your bed until the doc clears you to go.”

Lexi watched Auston carefully to make sure he wasn’t showing any signs of serious hurt and sighed in relief when Auston was back in the cot. Then, she sank onto one of the spare beds gratefully, leaving the sword on the bed beside her.

It took her ten minutes to fill Auston in on what was going on, and another five to describe her phone call home to their mom. Through it all, Ana slept on.

Just as Lexi finished, someone coughed politely.

Lexi stood up to greet the intruder. It was the stranger who had killed the Mare of Diomedes in front of Auston; now that he had a better chance to look, Auston could see that he had his hair tucked under an Edmonton Oilers cap--which,  _ seriously _ ?--and warm brown eyes, and wore what looked like leather and plate metal armor as if it weighed nothing. “Hi, Praetor McDavid. I was just telling Auston what he’d missed.”

“If you’d like, I can take it from here. Willy can take you to the guest house in New Rome and I’ll get Auston and Ana settled in, once they’re checked over.”

To Auston’s great surprise, Lexi agreed and left Auston and Ana with the stranger. Auston wondered what Praetor McDavid had even said to make Lexi trust him.

“Um, hi,” Auston tried. Ana twitched a little in her sleep.

“Hi,” the stranger said back and held out a hand for Auston to shake. “I’m Connor McDavid, one of the Praetors here.” 

It took a moment, but Auston realized he was speaking in Latin. It was strange to hear someone who wasn’t his mother or sisters speaking Latin so fluidly. His dad and Latin teacher at school still stumbled awkwardly, but this stranger spoke Latin as easily as Auston did.

Auston realized he was quiet a little too long. “Auston Matthews.”

“So, do you know where you are?” Praetor McDavid asked. He dragged a chair across the floor to sit beside Auston’s bed, so Auston pushed himself up to sit cross-legged.

Auston nodded, seeing no reason to lie. “Camp Jupiter in New Rome, somewhere in central California.”

Praetor McDavid stopped and fish mouthed a little. “You--”

“My maternal grandmother is Minerva,” Auston explained. “My mama sort of grew up here.”

“But your sister didn’t say--”

“Lexi was probably having you on,” Auston told him, trying not to laugh. “She’s kind of good at that.”

Praetor McDavid shook his head. “Dylan was telling me I was getting too complacent, and then somebody went and handed me a surprise. I guess I can skip most of the speech about how this is Camp Jupiter, home to any and all worthy demigods and legacies who wish to serve New Rome. I don’t know how much your mom told you--”

“Ten years of service, tattoos for your godly relative, enforced child soldiers, archaic weapons and a poor educational system straight out of the seventeenth century run by fifteen-year-olds,” Auston rattled off. He at least had the grace to look a little apologetic. “I think she might have been a little biased.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Praetor McDavid looked entirely nonplussed. “Your whole family is just full of characters, aren’t they?”

“Dad’s pretty normal, but he’s the only one,” Auston offered. “Praetor McDavid, sir--”

“Call me Connor.”

“Yes, sir. What’s going to happen to me and my sisters?”

“It’s up to you, really.” Praetor McDavid-- _ Connor _ \-- leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Your older sister is a bit too old to join the legion, but she’s welcome to stay in New Rome, as a legacy of Minerva. Ana is a little young, but we’ve had younger join; now that she’s here, we can’t let her go in good conscience, not without arming her against the monsters trying to kill her. You, though, could go either way. If you wanted, you could stay with your older sister and learn your legacy without having to serve the legion, or you could carry out a shorter term of service. And yes, a sword is kind of an old-fashioned weapon, but old-fashioned works around here. We fight with archaic weapons because archaic weapons are the only things that reliably work against archaic monsters.”

Auston nodded and started sorting all the information he’d been given into understandable chunks. “You serve to contribute to Roman society, right?”

“More or less. It’s tradition, and you do get a decent education out of it, despite what your mom might have told you.”

Auston nodded again, and fell silent.

“Hey, Auston?” Connor asked, after a moment.

“Yeah?”

“Why did the monsters go after you and not your sisters?”

Auston shifted uncomfortably, but he met Connor’s eyes and his voice was steady as he spoke. “Mama always said Minerva was stronger in me. Lexi was more like Dad, but I’m most like Mama, and Minerva, I guess. And Ana’s young, so we just assumed it hadn’t kicked in yet.”

“Does she know you’re here?”

“Mama? Yeah. Lexi said she called her. Mama'll probably call the camp next.”

Connor paused. “How? You can’t exactly google our number.”

Auston snorted. “Assuming you have any kind of technology here, yeah. She’ll get the number.”

Connor raised an eyebrow and leaned back. “Well. Now I feel pretty useless.”

“I mean--just because my sisters and I didn’t come to Camp Jupiter until now doesn’t mean we know nothing. Mama taught us a lot, and there’s a lot she didn’t teach us, too. Like how to get any phone number in the world.”

“Fair point. Anyways, my co-praetor is showing your older sister around and settling her into temporary housing until she decides if they’re going to stick around or head back home. You’ll be in the Fifth,” Connor said and stood up. “If you feel up to walking, I’ll show you around and introduce you to Amanda, one of your centurions.”

Auston nodded. “My ankle seems fine.” He swung out of the bed, noticing that he was wearing his flannel pajama pants from home. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten to wearing them, but honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if literal magic was involved. “Is Ana--”

“She’s sleeping, and Marns has this building warded to hell and back. He’ll know if she so much as sneezes, and he knows to get me when she wakes up.”

-|-|-|-

“So, this is the Twelfth Legion’s section of New Rome,” Connor explained as they left the infirmary. “There are--currently, including you and Ana, 193 legionnaires. We’re usually between 180 and 210 at any point in time; we suffered a pretty large drop in the second Titanomachy a decade back, but we’ve mostly recuperated since. We’ve been here, in San Francisco, since about 1930, but we’ve been in the USA since about the late 1700s.”

Auston nodded and filed that information away in the back of his brain. New Rome was certainly a city planner’s dream, from what he could see; everything was laid out in neat rectangles, every road and path at clean ninety and forty-five-degree angles. Auston wasn’t quite sure how, but the buildings were crisply white.

“On this side are the road are the functional buildings,” Connor continued. “The infirmary, the armory, the praetor building, the school, and the Senate building. Across the road are the cohort barracks, one through five, in numerical order.”

“You said Ana and I’d be in Five?”

“Most likely,” Connor confirmed as they walked down the road. “Unless you show exceptional skill from the start or get a recommendation from a legionnaire who knows you well, everyone starts out in the Fifth and gets reclassified when they earn it. Back behind the Fifth’s barrack is the kitchen and dining hall, and beyond that are the climbing walls, gym, and open fields. Baths are down by the First’s barrack and the library.”

The roads were mostly empty, which confused Auston. “Where is everyone?”

Connor snorted. “It’s Tuesday noon in early January. Everyone’s in school or at work.”

“Oh.” The last week had seemed like years to Auston; school seemed even farther away.

“The, uh, legion runs year round.” Connor pushed his hair back. “And I promise, it’s good schooling, if that’ll ease your mind. Our age group would be doing physics, pre-calc, history, literature and Latin around now, I think. I tested out of a lot of it, so I’m not totally sure. And phys ed, of course, but we’ve made that a bit more Roman.”

Auston nodded. “But you said we’d find--Andrea?”

“Amanda. She’ll be at your barracks. I let her know you were coming when you woke up.” Connor gestured to the last building in the row. “This is it.”

Amanda turned out to have long, pin-straight hair and wore armor similar to Connor’s; even though she stood a good fifteen centimeters shorter than both Auston and Connor, her bearing was confident and in control. 

“Amanda Kessel, daughter of Minerva, the centurion of the Fifth Cohort,” she said briskly, giving Connor a crisp salute and Auston a solid handshake. “Technically your centurion is Dylan, but we all know better than to give him  _ probatios  _ on their first day.”

Connor hid a laugh; Auston wondered what the story was there, but before he could ask, Amanda had passed him a wicker basket with bed linens, blankets, and towels.

“The barracks are divided into thirds,” she said, starting down the hall. A stunned Auston followed, carrying the basket. “Boys’ side towards the back, girls’ side up front, common area and bathrooms in the middle. You live on the side you identify with, and if you’re non-binary, we’ll sort something out. There’s forty of us, everything’s floor style, privacy is a bit hard to come by.  _ This _ is the boy’s barracks,” she said, pushing open a door with a red frame. “Red is boys, yellow is girls, everything else should be green. Names are above the beds--that one there is your centurion, Dylan--of  _ course  _ he didn’t make his bed--bug him with any questions you have. You’re--ah--here.”

Amanda stopped in front of an empty bed; sure enough, there was already a plaque reading “Auston Matthews” hanging above it. Auston set the basket down.

“Trunk at the foot of the bed is yours, that dresser, and that shelf there. We’ll get you set up with desk space in one of the common rooms.” She paused. “Connor McDavid,  _ what _ are you doing?”

“Making the bed?”

“You’re  _ praetor _ , you don’t make a  _ probatio’s _ bed for him.”

“Fairly certain it’s the same as making my own. Besides, I doubt he knows how to turn military corners.”

“No, I do,” Auston said, and tried to take the fitted sheet from Connor, who just wasn’t having it. “Mama was strict about that sort of thing.”

“Mom?” Amanda asked, curious.

“He’s a legacy, Amanda,” Connor said, easily. “His mom was a daughter of Minerva too.”

“Ah, of course.” Amanda offered Auston a warm, genuine smile. “You’re my nephew, then, if your mom was one of my sisters.”

Auston grinned. “Always nice to meet family.”

“You’re lucky with the legacy,” Amanda said. “My older brother Phil is as human as they come. He doesn’t really get the whole demigod thing.”

“What’s my--what’s Centurion Dylan?”

Amanda gestured Auston towards the head of the bed and unfurled the flat sheet. “Dylan’s a double legacy. Both his parents were legionnaires; he’s the grandchild of Bellona and Venus both. Makes for some interesting powers. He’s part of the Strome-McLeod clan, so you’ll run into them at some point. Three boys in each family, and enough cousins to make your head spin.”

“I think that might just be Dylan,” Connor said dryly. Amanda snorted as if that might be true.

“Anyways. If Praetor McDavid decides to start acting like he should, I’ll take you through the armory and get you your basic gear and a set of camp shirts.”

“What do you  _ mean _ , like I should, I’m fairly certain I should be taking care of my legionnaires.”

“Or you’re just trying to get out of paperwork.”

Connor helped Auston tuck the flat sheet in with precise military turns, laughing a little. “That too.”

Amanda threw a pillow at Connor, devoid of a case. “I can handle my own cohort. Get out, praetor.”

Connor put the pillow on the bed. “Okay, okay. Remember he’s got a sister who also needs to get set up in here.”

Once Connor had left, Amanda winked at Auston conspiratorially. “He’s a pushover when it comes to cute boys.”

Auston flushed and hurriedly finished making his bed.

-|-|-|-

#  CONNOR

-|-|-|-

Connor came back to his quarters late, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What happened?” Dylan called. He was sprawled out on Connor’s bed, flicking through some internet site or other; as praetor, Connor didn’t live in the barracks proper, which meant that Dylan and Mitch invaded his space as often as possible. “Big fuss at the border earlier.”

“Three incoming legacies,” Connor said. He toed off his shoes and collected a welcome kiss from Dylan, sliding his fingers into Dylan’s soft hair as he let the kiss linger a little longer than he possibly should have if they had company. “Where’s Mitch?”

“Kitchen.”

“He’s not--”

“I’m not cooking, don’t worry,” Mitch called. Connor sighed in relief; his little kitchenette would survive another day. “What happened with the whole border hubbub?”

“ _ Hubub _ ? Are you ninety?”

“Shut up,” Mitch said affectionately, wandering in with a pizza box. Clearly, Dylan had charmed the blond streak to stay in Mitch’s hair; it was still there, despite Connor helping him apply dye to cover it up that morning. “Hey, Conn.” He bussed Connor on the cheek in a friendly greeting and settled in next to Dylan, dropping the pizza box onto his lap. “Border story, what happened there?”

“Three Minerva legacies.” Connor sat with his back against the headboard and sighed, letting the tension drain out of his shoulders. “Twelve, eighteen, and twenty.”

Mitch whistled, halfway to opening the box. “That old? And in one piece?”

“The only one injured was the eighteen-year-old, and he just passed out after a Mare of Diomedes died in front of him--I killed it, not him. He had a broken ankle--we didn’t call you in since it was easily fixable,” Connor said hastily at Mitch’s glare. “Didn’t think we needed the head medic to sort out an ankle when nectar and ambrosia would do. Your wards would have alerted you if it was anything more serious.”

Dylan closed his laptop and sat up, suddenly completely on the alert. “You’re joking.  _ Just  _ a broken ankle?”

“Wish I was. All three of them were aware of their legacy too. Raised in the old ways, even, and completely aware that Camp Jupiter existed.” Connor was getting a headache trying to figure this new demigod family out. He had thought being aware put demigods in more danger, not less, but the Matthews siblings seemed hell-bent on upturning everything Connor knew.

“And monsters haven’t eaten them alive already?” Dylan demanded.

Connor hummed, remembering Mitch’s entry to Camp Jupiter. He’d been hounded at his school by a literal harpy and had broken half his ribs in the distance between Wolf House and Camp Jupiter’s borders. He’d been unconscious for a  _ week _ . Dylan, on the other hand, had only ventured outside of Camp Jupiter twice in his life. “They certainly tried. Guess who their mom is?”

“Who?”

“Ema, daughter of Minerva.”

Mitch gave Connor a dry look. “Is that supposed to mean something to us?”

“Did you never pay attention in history? She was praetor in the late eighties,” Connor said. He reached for a slice of pizza, which Mitch handed over gladly. 

Dylan shrugged, which Connor took to mean as  _ why the fuck would we know about praetors from thirty years ago. _ Which, fair point. Most legionnaires barely knew about the praetors from the Second Titanomachy, only a decade or so ago. 

“She’s the only centurion to ever pack up and cut off all contact with the legion after serving as praetor. No one knew where she went; she was assumed dead.”

Mitch hummed, considering that. “Minerva legacies, huh. Surprising they got past thirteen without being completely destroyed by monsters, especially if they were aware.”

“The middle one doesn’t seem like a legacy,” Connor admitted. “I thought he was a full demigod, not a second-gen.”

“If he’s eighteen and alive, he’s definitely not a full demigod,” Dylan said dryly, his mouth half full. Connor legitimately wasn’t sure if it was the Venus thing or the dating thing that kept Dylan’s habit of talking with his mouth full charming instead of gross. “Not without a guardian.”

“Say it, don’t spray it. And, they didn’t go through Wolf House and they still found the camp,” Connor said, quietly. 

Mitch leaned over and picked the peppers off of Dylan’s pizza and got his hand smacked for his trouble.

“And the only time I’ve ever seen a monster so determined to get a demigod were when kids of the big three show up.”

“He was older and aware.” Dylan waved his hand dismissively. “The older you are, the worse it gets.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Connor’s tone was doubtful. “Anyways, the oldest isn’t joining the legion but the younger two are. They’ll be in the Fifth with you, Dylan, since there’s no way either of them can get recommendations from anyone but his mom, and I doubt she’ll be writing him any support letters anytime soon.”

“She upset?”

“We’ve had  _ eighteen _ scathing phone calls from her so far demanding their return,” Connor said, wincing. “I thought Drai was going to cry at the last one.”

“Draisaitl?  _ Cry _ ?”

“Have you ever been threatened, in graphic detail, in some of the filthiest Latin you’ve ever heard? At length? With some really terribly creative ways of death? Because let me tell you, Minerva demigods can get  _ really  _ creative.”

“Um, hello, my co-praetor is Amanda Kessel,” Dylan said flatly. “Badass daughter of Minerva? I am  _ fully aware _ of how graphic the Minerva demigods can get.”

“What’s the new legacy like?” Mitch asked, wisely changing the subject. He reached over to take more pizza. “The twelve-year-old?”

“Ana Matthews, one of Amanda’s. She was asleep when I left her in the infirmary—not injured, just worn out. I didn’t get much of a read on her, but her older sister gave me a pretty good background. The whole family has the standard stuff: dyslexia, ADD, athletes the lot of them.”

“She’s got two older sibs?”

“Yeah, one sister and one brother. The older sister is a powerhouse, protective as hell of her little siblings. Hell of a shot with a shotgun. Twenty, I think. Her name’s Lexi.”

“And the brother?”

“His name’s Auston, and he’ll be one of Dyls’. He’s sharp, intelligent. A quick speaker, caught onto the way the legion works pretty quick. Fluent in Latin, a quick study. Amanda seemed to approve. He’s got a lot to catch up on, though.”

“You  _ like _ him,” Mitch said gleefully. “Connor, you’ve got a  _ crush _ .”

“Only a little one! And besides, I’ve got Dylan. I’m plenty satisfied.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t think he’s cute,” Dylan chipped in. “I’ll have to check him out too, I guess. Mitch, wanna go on reconnaissance with me?”

Connor grabbed both of their sleeves when they started to get up. “What part of he’s  _ eighteen  _ are you two not getting?”

Dylan smirked. “The part where we were fourteen when we started dating?”

“Yeah. And we’re not harassing him, genius. Leave him alone.”

“Spoilsport. You’ve thought about it, though.”

“Like I said, he’s cute.”

“I bet he is,” Dylan said, to which Connor threw a pillow at him. He stood and stretched, then pulled Connor into a kiss. “You know we love you, right?”

“It’s not an insecurity thing,” Connor protested. “He’s  _ eighteen _ .” He hissed when Dylan bit his lip. “You  _ fucker _ .”

“Only if you’re very good,” Mitch said breezily, which broke the tension. Dylan flopped back onto the bed, dragging Connor with him, and then they were a pile of limbs and love, which worked out quite well, as far as Connor was concerned.

Mitch wriggled himself free after twenty minutes, citing his overnight shift at the infirmary. Dylan tucked in closer to Connor after Mitch left.

“It’s not really that he’s eighteen, is it?” Dylan asked, his hair tickling Connor’s nose.

Connor hated when Dylan could read him, but that was a side effect of six years of dating. “No, he’s probably only still in school because of the dyslexia thing. It’s more--I don’t know, this is going to sound stupid.”

“Stupider than jumping off the Senate roof the week before you became Praetor?”

Connor snorted out a laugh. “Maybe. He’s--he’s Marns’ type, I think.”

“Oh, babe.”

“Shut up, you asked.”

“No, I think it’s great. Maybe Marns will actually give us twenty minutes of alone time if he’s got a boyfriend of his own.”

“We don’t even know he’s actually Mitch’s type! Or if Mitch is Auston’s. He needs to get settled first.”

Dylan hummed, then bit Connor’s collarbone gently. “Well, it is just you and me right now…”

“And we have six AM drill time,” Connor countered.

“We’re not going to be responsible.”

“Wanna bet?”

Dylan’s laugh was, even after six years, one of the best things Connor had ever heard.

-|-|-|-

#  AUSTON

-|-|-|-

 

Auston was used to bullying, but demigods took it to a whole different level. He was currently hiding Ana behind him in one of the smaller training arenas, hoping no one would bother to take the time to search all of them.

They’d both been bullied before, for being nerdy and pagan, for being mixed kids, for liking hockey in the middle of Arizonian desert, for speaking Spanish and Latin fluently. Here, it was more their age that got people. Ana was twelve and short for her age, but she was at least about the age of regular probatios. Auston was eighteen, a full six years older than the rest of the beginners. He was clumsier with a sword than any of his age-mates, no matter how much he trained, and their centurion was only making it worse. Dylan Strome was nice and clearly meant well, but he hovered and teased Auston all the time.

Instead of being the quiet weirdo in the back of the room that everyone left alone, Auston was now the weird new kid who spent way too much time checking in on his baby sister and who happened to get special attention from one of the praetors and a centurion, and that was apparently entirely intolerable to his fellow legionnaires.

He’d been holding his own against them, honestly; he hadn’t spent years training like legionnaires here, but he’d played hockey and run track. He just didn’t really want to stir too much shit in his first couple of weeks. He could handle himself against bullies, had cultivated a mean right hook and a wickedly fast sprint; it was Ana he worried about. She’d always been small and far preferred curling up in a ball to fighting back. He’d caught a handful of demigods cornering Ana and had almost started a brawl before Ana had started crying. At that point, he’d reoriented his plans and hauled her off to hide in one of the small training rooms in the gym complex.

After twenty minutes of hiding, he decided to check if the coast might be clear and peeked out of the training room.

Auston was immediately grabbed by the very demigods he’d been avoiding, the four who  _ really _ had an issue with him. He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d done to piss them off, but it was enough that he’d taken to wearing his protection medallion everywhere, the one his mom had given him when he’d turned ten. It had worked against harpies and other monsters who wanted to devour him whole, but it didn’t do much against monsters of the human variety. Another demigod was hauling Ana out of the room by the collar of her shirt.

“Guys, come  _ on _ ,” he said, and it sounded pathetic even to his own ears. “She’s  _ twelve _ .”

The lead bully drew his arm back, and Auston moved to protect Ana. The bullies only really got one good hit in before someone was yelling and the bullies were stopping in surprise.

Mitch scowled and shoved in between Auston and the other demigods. “Bathroom duty and kitchen duty, next three weeks.  _ Yes _ , I have the authority to do that, feel grateful I’m not forcing you to scrub bedpans. You’re also being written up and probably demoted for harassment and disrespect of fellow legionnaires if I have any say in it.”

The other demigods stepped back nervously as Mitch collected their names and sent them off one by one.

“Come on, Auston,” Mitch said when he’d finished with the other demigods. Ana was clinging to Auston, staring at Mitch with wide eyes. “I’m patching you up.”

“I’m fine, really.”

Mitch gave Auston a dry look. “You were getting attacked by a thirteen-year-old son of  _ Somnus _ .”

Auston scowled. “Funnily enough, this is not making me feel better.”

“It’s not supposed to.” Mitch sighed and reached out to hold Ana’s hand. “You were also getting attacked by a sixteen-year-old daughter of Mars. Connor’s going to  _ flip _ .”

Auston winced. “That’s going to make it  _ worse _ .” They’d think him a tattle-tale, and then they’d have even more reasons to make Ana’s life miserable.

“Hazing is strictly prohibited,” Mitch said sternly and started hauling Auston and Ana down the hallway. “Bullying is not tolerated. They were bullying you.”

“We were handling it--” Auston started to protest. 

Mitch stopped in his tracks. “No, you weren’t.” Mitch gripped Auston’s shoulders and forced him to meet his eyes. “That is not okay. Period. I’m patching you up and then we’re all talking to Connor.”

Auston whined but let Mitch tow him out of the training grounds and over to the infirmary. Ana chattered at Mitch, clearly happy someone other than her brother was dealing with the bullies.

Mitch pushed Auston into a chair at the infirmary and fetched gauze and a jar of lollipops. “You’ve got a split lip.”

He dabbed at the spot with the gauze to clean it and then set his fingers against the cut, sending a spark of healing to knit it together. Auston yelped at the touch and the sting of the healing but Mitch had a grip on his chin that kept him from jerking away.

“You get a lollipop now,” Mitch said and shoved the jar at Auston once Mitch had finished healing his lip. “Pick one.”

Auston sullenly picked out a blue one and unwrapped it. He popped it in his mouth while Mitch texted Praetor McDavid. Ana sat on one of the empty cots, sucking on a lollipop of her own.

“You’re working in the infirmary with me from now on,” Mitch said, leaving no room for argument, setting his phone on the counter. “Either until your godly blessing shows up or you learn how to defend yourself, I’m utilizing you. The Fifth needs another medic trainee anyways.”

The rest of the afternoon was mortifying for Auston. Praetor McDavid had been supremely pissed off that one of his half-siblings had been participating in bullying a pair of probatios, and even more furious that Auston hadn’t reported any of the demigods behind it. Dylan had shown up as Auston’s centurion and Amanda hadn’t been far behind.

Auston mostly just wanted people to stop making a fuss and to be left alone, really.

Auston found Mitch’s presence cathartic, above all else. Sure, there were several other things that Mitch made Auston feel (not that Auston was willing to admit any of them), but he just had a knack for tracking action and explaining exactly what had gone down when all hell broke loose. It was easy to stop thinking about anything else other than practicing sutures and field medicine on people who came back from the forest with Hellhound gashes and bites and arrow wounds from Centaurs.

Auston hadn’t been allowed out, an unclaimed probatio with minimal weapons experience. Besides, Mitch had immediately co-opted him to prepare the infirmary for damage control.

Connor had bitched loudly about the Centaurs for approximately a million years, but they had chased away the threat from Camp Jupiter. The downside was that there were two dozen injured campers, ranging from scrapes that just needed to be cleaned to broken and fractured bones. Thankfully, there hadn’t been any deaths.

“You’re quiet,” Mitch noted, touching Auston’s wrist as he reached across him for the bottle of rubbing alcohol. “Something happen today?”

Auston’s patient was a fifteen-year-old girl who didn’t move fast enough when a Hellhound had come running her way, and she’d ended up with scrapes up her arms and legs, a fairly nasty bite on her torso, and potentially a mild concussion. She was very proud of having managed to kill the Hellhound, despite her injuries. She’d had some nectar, but it could only help so much. He set about dressing the wounds, settling into the tedious matter of carefully spreading salve over her wounds. 

“Nothing really big,” Auston replied. With his clean hand, he caught the roll of gauze Mitch threw his way. “I just, I helped solve a problem between a couple of people in my Cohort. I didn’t ever think I was smart enough to help someone like that.”

Mitch smiled gently and set to work cleaning wounds. Demigods who protested too much at the sting got a dry look and quickly shut up. They’d handled the big injuries already, and now it was just mopping up the scrapes of everyday life.

“Some demigods have a knack for leadership,” Mitch said. The kid he was treating was probably about eleven and had a deep enough gouge on his forearm that he’d probably need either stitches or a lot of butterfly bandages, depending on how bad it looked once Mitch cleared away the blood. “Connor and Dylan both have it. I think you might.”

Auston looked away from Mitch’s proud expression, blushing. “I dunno.”

“No, seriously!” Mitch reached for a pack of gauze and cleared off most of the blood. He spun a small strand of healing magic to help knit it together. He’d be tired later from all the healing he’d done today, but this would be easier than convincing an eleven-year-old to undergo stitches and to leave them alone long enough for the wound to actually heal.

“ _ Seriously _ . You’ve got that kind of drive that makes people want to listen and follow you. Connor had to find his. He didn’t used to be this intimidating, Auston. I’ll find pictures of when he was about sixteen. He was a fucking cupcake who had a deep-seated problem with pleasing everyone. In a way, he still does, but Conn took it by the balls and learned how to listen to the Legion’s needs and take care of them.” Mitch helped the boy up and sent him on his way with a bottle of water and candy bar to make up for lost blood sugar. “And Dylan, he’s never liked having people follow him, but they do because he doesn’t bullshit them.”

Mitch snagged a candy bar for himself and decided the last couple of patients could wait for him to take a breather. He’d been healing all day, and he was starving. Auston was still quietly and carefully dressing the girl’s wounds, all gentle strength and kindness. Around them, three other children of Apollo flitted around the infirmary, wrangling injured campers and worried friends. Non-Apollo assistants, like Auston, hurried in the Apollo demigods’ wakes.

“And then there’s people like me, who are better off in a support role--I’d actively kill someone if they tried to make me praetor, gods damn the idea--and like, Amanda, who’s a fine leader for twenty people but could never manage two hundred.” Mitch waved at the next patient, a legacy who had fallen wrong on her wrist.

Auston shrugged and double checked the bandage he’d just secured. “I don’t think I’m any of those, really.”

“Not many people are, but you’ve got the confidence for it.” Mitch helped the legacy sit and inspected her wrist. Not a break, but probably a sprain.

Mitch and Auston fell into a companionable silence as they patched up the last few kids assigned to them and sent them on their way. They were cleaning up the area when Connor was helped in by a pair of legionnaires from the First Cohort. 

Mitch’s expression went from quietly exhausted to outright anger when Connor grinned at him sheepishly. The legionnaires helped Connor onto a cot and scrambled away, probably to avoid getting caught in the crossfire of Mitch’s wrath.

Auston stepped aside and let Mitch take on Connor. The other children of Apollo didn’t dare interfere, not when Mitch was the only one who could get Connor to sit still long enough for a healing to hold.

“I fell during our last battlefield sweep,” Connor explained, grimacing as his ankle was jostled when Mitch threw his clipboard on the bed. 

“Fell or jumped from the highest watchpoint?”

Connor didn’t dignify that with an answer. “I think I either sprained or broke my ankle. Not entirely sure.”

Mitch sighed heavily and gently touched the ankle in question, spreading out his magic.

“You’re lucky it’s a clean break,” Mitch snapped when he’d made his diagnosis. Connor was holding very still, keeping from moving his ankle more than absolutely necessary. Auston was cowering in a corner, keeping away from the collateral damage. “You  _ idiot _ .”

“It’s not so bad,” Connor said, shrugging a little sheepishly. “I just landed wrong.”

Mitch set his jaw and went to fetch bandages, leaving Connor sitting on the cot, his foot propped up. Connor gave Auston a sheepish shrug. “It  _ is  _ so bad when I’m healing your busted ass three times a day on top of the workload I already have.” He ripped the packaging off the ace bandage and stormed over to Connor’s sickbed. Across the way, the other Apollo demigods were drawing curtains shut and ushering patients away from the fight that was sure to erupt. “You think I have time to just drop everything for you? Fuck, Connor, it would be different if it was like, little scratches or a mistaken gladius maim like everyone else, but I have to spend half-hour periods at a time because you keep jumping out of trees or off of fucking buildings.”

Connor ducked his head, frowning into the collar of his camp shirt. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, peeking at Mitch through his eyelashes. Auston shifted uncomfortably and started edging away from Connor’s cot, out of the magicked soundproof curtains.

“That’s what you always say. Then you go and do it the fuck again.” Mitch’s hands were gentle as he wrapped the supportive bandage around Connor’s ankle. Even the lightest touches made Connor wince a little, but Mitch didn’t look apologetic. “I’d expect this shit from Dylan, but not you.”

Auston kept moving slowly towards the door. He generally had a policy of not getting in between fighting couples.

“Auston, get me Ambrosia, an ankle splint, and an ice pack,” Mitch snapped, and Auston ran to grab the appropriate materials. He picked up a protein bar and two energy drinks as well; Mitch was sure to need them once he’d finished healing Connor. When he got back, Mitch’s face was screwed up in concentration as he shifted Connor’s bones and knit the muscle back together.

It was a fairly simple break if Mitch’s mutterings were anything to go by, and it only really took five minutes to heal the worst of it.

“I’m too worn out to heal it all the way, so you’ll be here overnight,” Mitch said when he finally let Connor’s ankle go. “I’ll finish it tomorrow--” Mitch stopped short when he saw the way Connor’s shirt was torn and bloodstained across his back. “What in  _ Hades _ happened here?” he demanded, forcibly turning Connor so he could get a better look. “Connor McDavid, I swear to all the gods, if you were--”

“They’re just scratches,” Connor tried to protest hurriedly and made the mistake of attempting to pull away from Mitch’s probing fingers. “I had to pull a hellhound off of a baby son of Venus and I got scratched--”

“Oh, they’re just  _ scratches _ , my mistake. It clearly isn’t  _ bleeding profusely enough  _ to warrant mentioning to a medic. Sit back down, McDavid.” Mitch flapped a hand at Auston. “I need a stitching kit and disinfectant, and more Nectar and Ambrosia.  _ Go _ .”

Auston scrambled to get everything Mitch needed. When he was rummaging for a suture kit out of the supply cabinet, a daughter of Apollo clapped him on the shoulder.

“I am glad as hell not to be Mitch’s page today,” she said cheerfully and pushed a suture kit and disinfectant into Auston’s arms. “Better you than me.”

Auston scrubbed his hands over his face. When he ducked back into Connor’s curtained area, he was hit with a wave of sound. Mitch and Connor apparently hadn’t stopped shouting.

“Soundproofing works,” he murmured, stumbling back a little, and shoved the supplies at Mitch.

“--the  _ most  _ irresponsible person I know--”

“I have a  _ job _ to do--”

“Oh, and that job involves jumping out of fucking  _ trees--” _

_ “ _ If that’s what it takes, then,  _ yes-- _ ”

“I’m just gonna go now,” Auston tried.

“ _ Sit down _ ,” both Mitch and Connor snapped at Auston, who shook his head and backed out of the infirmary entirely.

He could hear Mitch shouting after him, but he didn’t particularly care to listen at this point. Auston darted through New Rome and ended up at Lexi’s half-furnished house. He barely said hello to Lexi and instead hurried up the two flights of stairs to his room and slammed the door behind him.

-|-|-|-

#  DYLAN

-|-|-|-

“What the fuck did you two do?” Dylan demanded, responding to Connor’s SOS text. “He’s been here _two weeks_ .”

Connor was sitting on a hospital cot, shirtless and halfway bandaged; Mitch was hovering over him, arms folded across his chest. Auston’s letterman jacket, the one Dylan knew had belonged to Auston’s dad, was abandoned on a chair. Both Connor and Mitch were staring at it.

“We might’ve gotten into a bit of a fight,” Connor admitted. He was tense; if he’d been a cat, the hair on his back would have been standing straight up. As it was, he had his shirt off and back half-wrapped in gauze, so the ruffled look wasn’t really effective. Mitch, on the other hand, had blood-stained scrubs and the kind of exhausted expression Dylan associated with particularly violent capture the flag days. “And Auston noped the fuck out of here.”

“What was the fight about?”

“Connor’s fucking  _ idiotic  _ tendency to get injured,” Mitch said before Connor could reply, and they were off again, arguing at full volume.

Connor and Mitch didn’t argue often, but when they did, it wasn’t anything like the frigid fights that Connor and Dylan could get into or the bitter jabs Mitch and Dylan traded. No, Connor and Mitch practically exploded onto each other, using their fight as an excuse to air every other argument they’d ever had and then some.

“Hey!” Dylan bellowed, in his full _I am centurion, hear me_ _roar_ voice. “No one fucking cares whose fault it is right now; where the _fuck_ is Auston?”

Neither Mitch or Connor paid him any mind, gesticulating at each other wildly.

Dylan sighed and let himself out. He checked the obvious places--the barracks, the library, the training rooms--before pausing and heading for New Rome proper. There was one place he hadn’t checked yet. He just had to find it.

The Matthews house was on the outskirts of New Rome, a little closer to the border than most New Rome citizens would prefer but almost as far away from the legion’s training camps as was possible. It was an unremarkable house, as most houses in New Rome tended to be before their residents customized them to fit their godly heritage and their role in Roman society. The house had been painted a deep blue, Dylan noted. The wide porch had been co-opted as bike storage, and dog toys were scattered across the porch floor.

This model of house had four bedrooms, Dylan knew; he’d grown up in one that was just the same. He knocked on the door, and waited.

A tall woman answered the door, looking profoundly unimpressed at his presence.

“Auston is hacking up the back porch. I’m not dealing with it, and I’m not dealing with your bullshit if you’re here to make it worse.” She raised an eyebrow and then stepped aside. “Lexi Matthews.”

“Dylan Strome,” he told her and followed her through the house to the back porch.

Sure enough, Auston was going through aerobic forms with quick, efficient movements. His gladius seemed like an extension of his arm and his form was clean, which made Dylan wonder if he’d taken kickboxing classes. There was a punching bag, but it was secured off to the side, unused.

Auston didn’t look up when Dylan slid the back door open. “Go away, Lex,” he said in English.

“I would,” Dylan said in Latin. “But one of my legionnaires is throwing a bitch fit because of something my best friend said, so I figure I’ve got to do damage control.”

Auston lowered his hands to his sides and turned to face Dylan. “The praetor send you?”

“Mitch called me to handle Connor, but I left them to their spat and came to find you. Sometimes I forget you’re not one of us.”

Auston raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“You know what I mean,” Dylan corrected. Auston rolled his eyes and went for the water bottle resting on a patio chair. “You didn’t grow up with us, even though you’re about the same age, and you didn’t see the fights I used to get into with Mitch. I’ve been dating Connor since we were about fourteen.”

That made Auston look surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. We’ve known Mitch almost as long. Most of the legionnaires around here grew up with us, so they’re used to any variation of us getting into a fight. They usually blow over pretty quick; Connor and Mitch get mean, but they’ll be cuddle buddies in about five minutes.”

Auston doesn’t look any less annoyed. “Great, so it was just me they got upset at?”

Dylan leaned back against the door as Auston drank from his water bottle. “No.”

“No?”

“No. That was something they needed to work out between themselves. Connor gets reckless, Mitch gets mad, whoever’s in between sometimes needs to mediate. But you didn’t grow up with Connor’s terrible Bieber haircut so you buy into that whole  _ Praetor-rawr  _ thing he’s got going on.”

That made Auston laugh a little, so Dylan considered that a job well done.

“I get a little self-conscious,” Auston admitted. “I just don’t know much of what everyone else seems to already know.”

“Like with the gladius?”

“Yeah.”

Dylan grinned. “I can take you out to the fields and we can run through and practice. Amanda would be glad to help too, I think.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Dylan didn’t wait very long to take Auston out to the training fields and work with him one on one. On one of the Legion’s half-days--morning review waited for no one, but a free afternoon was always nice--he took Auston out to a field and had him help set up the gaga pit they’d use to practice in.

“So what are you weakest at?” he asked, adjusting the buckle on his leather sword belt.

“Everything,” Auston told him, grimacing. “Swords are--difficult.”

Dylan hummed. “Okay. Let’s start with the  [ forms ](http://www.grey-tower.net/GTWarders/skills/swordforms.php) . Let’s starting with folding and unfolding the fan, ten of each, in sequence. Then stances, and once I’m sure you’ve got them I’ll call out stance and blade forms for you to put together and follow.”

Auston had a dancer’s grace when he moved through the forms; there was no reason his sword skills should be so poor. Dylan had already known Auston had no trouble with the forms, not when Auston had gone to practice forms during his bitch fit.

It seemed that employing those forms in combat was the problem. Alone, Auston could drill anything Dylan threw at him.

When Dylan stepped in front of him and started doing basic sparring techniques, Auston’s skill fell apart. His form was still flawless, but he was choosing the wrong responses to each of Dylan’s movements.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Dylan said after ten minutes of this. Given the speed that practices usually went at, and the strain of slow, sustained weapon-wielding, this felt like an eternity and a half. “I think I know what the problem is.”

“I’m shit at a sword?” Auston said dryly. He scrubbed away sweat with the sleeve of his shirt. “Jesus.”

Dylan snorted a little at the anachronism, and carefully tucked his gladius into its sheath. Auston followed suit.

“No,” Dylan said. “Implementation.”

“Come again?”

“There’s a certain amount of practice that comes from sparring,” Dylan told him, moving to sit on the wall of the gaga pit. “You can practice forms all you want, but that doesn’t matter if you can’t read an opponent.”

“And?”

“Look. You and I can do one on one, and when you can read me, we’ll pull Connor or Mitch in. I’m sure Amanda would love to help, too. You just need to recognize what I’m doing and then execute the counter form. We can drill for monsters too, but you’ll most likely just run into sparring with the legion.”

Auston nodded grimly. “When can we start?”

-|-|-|-

#  CONNOR

-|-|-|-

“Hey, Taylor,” Connor said, dropping to sit cross-legged across from the Augur. “You wanted to see me?”

“I’ve been reading the omens,” Taylor Crosby said. Her hair was braided up in an elegant coil, her silvery shawl draping off of one shoulder. She was the sixth in her family line to be Augur, following her older brother and a maternal cousin before the family tree got a little convoluted. The Crosby siblings weren’t demigods themselves, but their mother's side had served as Augurs as far back as recorded memory went. “We have a quest coming. I can’t tell what or when--not yet, I’ll have to look deeper, and that could take days--but I know it’s coming. I’ll let you know when I know more, but I thought...well, I thought you’d want to know a quest was coming.”

Connor nodded. “Thanks. The heads-up is really helpful, and it’s okay you don’t know everything. Neither do we, and you tend to know way more than we do anyway.”

She snorted. “Thanks, babe. If I consult the Sibylline Books and perform a few sacrifices, I might learn more. Ella can help me with that, I think, if I can track her down. Amanda is already starting research. All I know at the moment is that it’ll involve the new probatio.”

“Auston?”

“Is that his name? He hasn’t come in for his tattoo yet. Or his sister.”

“They haven’t officially been claimed by their grandmother yet. You’re sure it’ll involve him?”

“I know that it’s an old-but-new  _ probatio _ , and he will be a powerful god-son, and the quest will hinge on him.”

“Auston’s a legacy, not a...god-son. So it can’t be him.”

Taylor shrugged. “Maybe someone else will come, then. An older demigod who’s survived outside of New Rome’s notice or knowledge. Or maybe there’s something we don’t know about this Auston. Or, the simplest answer? God-son just means descendant, and it won’t matter that he’s a grandson instead of a son.” Taylor sighed, long and slow. “The gods like to--how’d you so elegantly put it?--fucking shit up for us mere mortals.”

Connor snorted. “Thanks, Taylor.”

She blew him a kiss. “No problem. I’ll call Sidney and see if he or Geno have any insights, but he’s been trying to get Pittsburgh under control long enough now that I doubt he’s been paying attention to quest sigils. He was never great at that anyway.”

Connor kissed her on the cheek and left, thinking things over. He wandered the camp for a while before heading back to his quarters. 

Mitch was there, sitting at Connor’s desk. He waved distractedly at Connor, who rolled his eyes and went to change out of his armor. After, he settled onto his bed and watched Mitch work, halfway to zoning out.

He startled and nearly fell off the bed when Dylan barged in, annoyed and ready to let everyone know how annoyed he was.

“Weapons practice went awful,” Dylan declared. “I stayed late to do one on one with Auston, try to get him caught up.”

“How’s he doing, then?” Connor asked.

“He’s not half-bad with a gladius, but his shield skills are for shit,” Dylan said exasperatedly. He stripped off his gloves and flung them at Connor. “Not that I’m surprised given his late start, but there were twelve-year-old children of Somnus half his height kicking his ass in shield drills.” 

Mitch laughed, sorting through piles of forms and what looked like a hospital chart.

“He’s eighteen and a legacy,” Connor said mildly. “Shield skills might not be natural to him.”

“He’s a  _ Minerva  _ legacy. As in, Minerva, the warrior goddess?”

“No, Minerva the architect and strategist,” Connor corrected. “Minerva, builder of cities and weaver of cloth. Not all demigods are meant to wield a weapon.”

“If he was of Somnus, I’d agree,” Dylan argued. “But he’s a  _ Minerva _ and I’ve never seen anyone pick ranged weapons up so fast, nevermind how quick he learned gladius  _ forms _ \--”

“I don’t think he’s a Minerva,” Connor said abruptly. He’d been thinking that for a while, but his conversation with Taylor had made him seriously consider it.

Mitch dropped his pen. Dylan fish mouthed.

“You don’t?”

“Mares of Diomedes don’t go after legacies. Legacies get minor monsters--gryphons, or pygmies. They don’t get major monsters that chase them across an entire continent. Legacies are small fish compared to demigods, even with three of them, Dyls, they’re not mythologically blooded enough to be worth the effort to hunt them down and stay concealed.”

“He’s definitely a legacy, though,” Dylan stepped up behind Connor and wrapped his arms around Connor’s waist; Connor leaned back into the touch. “All three of them.”

“Yeah, I know. But you don’t get three Mares of Diomedes chasing down one legacy and ignoring two others who are less heavily armed.”

“What if they had a godly parent and a godly grandparent?” Mitch asked. The silence practically echoed after his question.

“Is that possible?” Dylan asked finally. “I mean--I know of double legacies, but a legacy-demigod?”

“They’re the gods,” Connor said wearily. “Jupiter wasn’t supposed to have children and look what happened there.”

“The kid would be only a quarter human.” Mitch’s voice, quietly serious. “Big enough a prize to be chased, you think?”

“I’d say.” Dylan let Connor go and grabbed a sheet of paper. “Is that even possible?”

“Da Vinci was one,” Connor said. “I'm pretty sure. They'd be rare as hell, though.”

“Which god, though? Which god would risk pissing Minerva off by hooking up with her daughter?”

“None of the minors,” Connor said. “They’d never risk that, Minerva would crush them in an instant. Not Jupiter--she’s his favorite daughter, he wouldn’t risk losing her favor. Probably.”

“Diana’s out, and Juno,” Mitch chipped in. “Definitely not Mars--”

“Why not Mars?”

“You’ve seen Auston near any of the larger weapons,” Dylan cut in. “A Minerva-Mars hybrid would be kickass with any weapon you handed him, and besides, Mars would get his ass handed to him by Minerva for messing with one of her kids. Venus?”

“She’d have claimed him by now,” Mitch said. “There’d already be a feud--”

Dylan made a face. “Minerva and Venus get along fine, it’s Venus and Diana who don’t--”

“Vulcan, Pluto, Demeter?” Mitch gestured widely. Connor ducked to avoid getting smacked in the face.

“Pluto?  _ Auston _ ?”

“It was just a thought. Neptune?”

Dylan grinned widely and said “Neptune-Minerva demigod would be a hell of a catch--”

Mitch reached over and dead-armed Dylan. “Neptune would have claimed him already. Also, fuck you for making me hear that pun—”

“Who’s left, then? Bellona? Mercury?” Connor interjected.

“Demeter?”

“We don’t even know if he’s actually a full-on demigod,” Dylan said finally. “Debating whose kid he is would be both impossible and stupid. If he is, he’ll get claimed.”

“I’d still like to know,” Mitch said. “We might have to do something if he’s three-quarters godly.”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.”

“I mean, what would that do to his physiology?”

“Mitch.”

“And his mental health?”

“Mitch, no.”

“Do you think I could get a tissue sample from him?”

“We don’t even know if he is three-quarters godly,” Dylan said.

“Also, no experimenting on the legion,” Connor added. “Come on, that’s not okay.”

Mitch shrugged. “I was just thinking. How often could this happen?”

“Who knows? Come on, drop it. Either he is or he isn’t, and he’s survived this long anyway.”

-|-|-|-

“So we have to talk about this,” Mitch said when they were cleaning up from dinner. Mitch was up to his elbows in soapy dishwater; Dylan was drying, and Connor was scrubbing down the table.

Connor yawned, glancing longingly at the fridge. He had a six-pack of beers in the back, and he was about dying to have one. “What, the potentially extra-demigod we’ve got on our hands?”

Mitch shook his head, not turning to look at Connor. “Well, sort of. Are you--are you courting him?”

The noise Dylan made was somewhere between a laugh and a dying whale’s attempt at finding love before he passed on. “I’m sorry,  _ courting _ ?”

“Well, what else to you call flirting with someone, trying to get them to date you?”

“Um, flirting with someone, without trying to get them to date you?” Dylan said, raising an eyebrow. “My hands are full with Connor, dude.”

Mitch flicked a handful of suds at Dylan in retaliation. Connor definitely wanted that beer now.

“Okay, fine. What are you doing about Connor’s crush on Auston?”

Connor shrugged. “I’m fine with just letting this be a crush. Like--polyamory, cool concept, I’m not sure I could handle dating anyone but Dylan.” He paused. “Oh,  _ shit _ .”

“What am I missing here?” Dylan asked, looking back and forth between them. “Guys. Guys, tell me your secrets.”

Connor leaned back against the counter. He remembered the day he’d arrived at Camp Jupiter and Dylan had welcomed him into the fold with open arms, even as scared as Connor had been. Mitch had arrived three months later, spitting fire and demanding to be sent home, back to his brother and parents. Dylan had hated Mitch for a while, but they’d grudgingly become friends once Connor and Dylan had started dating, once Mitch was no longer a threat to Connors attention.

No matter how much closer Mitch and Dylan had grown, there were still things Connor knew about Mitch better than Dylan would, and that was what he was picking up on here.

“I really like Auston,” Mitch said in a rush, rinsing off a plate and carefully not looking his best friends in the eyes. “And, uh, I wanted to make sure you weren’t trying to date him before I tried to date him.” Mitch finally shut off the tap, but he didn’t turn around. “So. Hypothetically.”

“He’s your apprentice at this point,” Connor said slowly. “And he’s part of Dylan’s cohort.”

“But he’s a good friend, and he’s our age, and--I just. Really like him.”

No one had anything else to add to that.

Dylan stretched lazily. “I’ve got to go shower. Anyone want to come with me?”

Mitch threw a dish towel at Dylan; Connor ducked his head, and headed for the bathroom after Dylan, ignoring Mitch’s annoyed groans.

-|-|-|-

#  Auston

-|-|-|-

 

It happened in class. Auston was doing his math work--the teacher had tested him and promptly given him advanced individual study work in calculus, rather than Algebra like his handful of yearmates--when everything changed.

He was working his way through a problem that had him grinning and digging in enthusiastically. He was so absorbed that he didn’t notice anything wrong until the teacher tapped on his desk.

“Why don’t you go find your centurions?” she suggested, looking a little shaken. “And--Connor. Go see Praetor Connor. And Julie Chu, over in the admin building, maybe.”

“Why? I haven’t--I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“No, but, you’ve been claimed.”

“By...Minerva?”

“No,” she said, looking uncertain. “By Vulcan.”

Auston stared at her, uncomprehending. “But I’m a Minerva legacy.”

“The sigil above your head says otherwise,” she said. “Go see Connor.”

He glanced up, and sure enough, the hammer of Vulcan floated there. It blinked, satisfied that Auston had seen it, and dissolved.

“I’m gonna--I’m gonna go.”

Auston found himself sitting in the praetor’s office, along with the school’s principal and his sisters.

“Vulcan?” Ana asked once the story had been recounted in full. His eyes were wide. “But--we’re descendants of Minerva.”

“Could it be a mistake?” Lexi added.

“There’s--the gods don’t make mistakes like this,” Connor said. He was flipping through an ancient-looking logbook filled with dense Latin. “If a god claims another’s descendant, it’s either an act of war or an act of truth. Juno claimed one of Jupiter’s sons a decade ago and it was one of the biggest conflicts we’ve seen in the demigod community. If it was a mistake, we’d know by now. So--either Vulcan claimed Auston with Minerva’s permission, or...he’s genuinely of Vulcan.”

“Third option,” Taylor said, pushing into the room. Auston stared at the Oracle in worry. “He’s both. Three-quarters godly.”

The room erupted.

-|-|-|-

Auston spent a lot of time huddled in his bed, crying. He hadn’t gone back to the legion bunks and had instead hidden in Lexi’s house, curled in bed with Ana and Lexi.

“Mom didn’t cheat on Dad,” Lexi said. She tucked Auston into her side. Ana hugged Auston’s other side, surrounding Auston in a sisterly hug. “I talked to some of the Children of Vulcan, and they explained that Vulcan demigods are, like. Brain babies.”

Ana peered up at both of them. “Brain babies?”

“It’s two great minds meeting,” Lexi said. “I figure--after I was born, Mom was working on her dissertation. That math theorem none of us ever understood, except you, remember? We figure she met the Smith Lord in her research and didn’t know who he was. And since Mom and Dad were trying for you anyways--it kind of went unnoticed. And then Ana got here the traditional way six years later, no godly meddling involved.”

“I’m still not Dad’s son,” Auston said, miserable. “I’m Vulcan’s son.”

“He didn’t raise you. Dad did. He doesn’t care that the Smith Lord contributed to your heritage. You’re our brother, and his son. You’re a  _ Matthews _ .” Lexi had the look on her face that meant arguing was not going to work in any way, shape or form.

Auston sniffled and buried his face in Lexi’s sleeve. They were all getting bigger and didn’t quite fit in a twin-bed cuddle pile like they used to. Part of growing up, he guessed. Like finding out his dad wasn’t really his dad.

“I texted Mom and told her to call,” Lexi said suddenly. “We...probably need to break the news.”

Auston groaned.

“It’s not a bad thing, Aus.”

“You didn’t find out that Dad isn’t your dad,” Auston said. “Of course it’s a bad thing.”

“It is not.” Ana tugged on Auston’s earlobe. “Hey. Auston. Would we be dogpiling you if we thought you weren’t our brother?”

“We’ve got the same mom,” Auston said miserably. “But  _ Dad _ .”

Lexi’s phone buzzed, the Jaws theme song.

“Did you seriously set Mom’s ringtone to Jaws?”

“It was the Darth Vader march last month, don’t tell me it’s not appropriate,” Lexi shot back.

Auston cracked a smile.

“Come on,” Lexi said, and gave Auston the phone.

“Oh, honey,” Ema said immediately when Auston answered the call. “Is he okay? He’s not answering his phone--”

“It’s me,” Auston managed.

Ema sighed. “Oh, Auston, honey.”

“Hi, Mama.”

“I named you Auston,” Ema said, sighing. He could practically see her expression, the fondly exasperated one that usually appeared when he was sent to the headmaster’s office for fucking around with the school computers or breaking a window when playing shinny. “I should’ve known.”

“What do you mean?”

“Auston, as in Austonian,” she said. “Founder of the Roman Empire. Leader of the Pax Romana. I thought I was being clever. Alexandria and Auston. I was going to call you Tony, but I could never manage.”

“But--Ana?”

“Breyana Antonia,” Ema said. “Alexandria Emilia, Auston Wayland, Breyana Antonia. I thought I was paying respect to our heritage, but I should have noticed. I named Lexi after me, and Breyana after your father. I was going to name you Brian after your dad, but I just couldn’t make myself do it. Wayland is the Norse form of your godly father.”

“Is Dad...is he mad?”

He could hear his mum sigh again. “He’s a little in shock, but he’s long known our gods are complicated. He’s accepted it, but I think he’s still bent on marching out to the camp and making offerings until your godly father has to acknowledge him. I think he plans to challenge his paternity. So I’m trying to dissuade him, but you know your dad.”

Auston smiled at his lap. “Yeah, maybe convince him that football-tackling a divine immortal is a bad idea? And tell him I love him.”

“Tell him yourself. Brian!” she called. From the way her voice was muffled, he figured she was holding her hand over the mouthpiece. “Come talk to your son!”

“Which one? The old one, the middle one, or the one I didn’t ask for?”

“It’s Auston, Brian.”

“Ah, the middle one.” There was a rustling. “Hey, kiddo! How’s California? Dragged your sisters surfing yet?”

“Been too busy swinging my gladius.”

“Well, I guess you’ve discovered your mom’s armory. Remind her to show you her two-handed broadsword next time you’re home. Maybe you can hit up the ren faire together. Win some tournaments or something.”

“You’re going to let me come back?”

“Let you? Jesus, Auston. What kind of question is that? Not only am I going to let you come home, I’m demanding it. Christmas, at the very least. I don’t care if you and your mom think Jesus and Christmas is bullshit, I celebrate Saturnalia with you two so you’re going to celebrate Christmas with me. Your god-son ass is going to be on a plane to Arizona every December 15th so you can spend Saturnalia with your mom and Christmas with me. Anyways, your mum is looking for jobs near the camp--I think she’s applied to, what, Berkeley? Is that the one? Or Stanford? One of those. Once she gets in, you’re coming to weekly supper, no exceptions. You’re my son, a Matthews through and through, and I love you. You can go tell Vulcan to go fuck himself--”

“Brian!” Auston’s mum shrieked.

“--sorry, tell him to go stuff it--”

“BRIAN!”

“What, Ema? What do you want me to say? The man’s gotta pay for making my kid doubt his own place in my family. When Vulcan’s changed a year's worth of shitty diapers and taught Auston how to ride a bike, he can call himself Auston’s dad. And attended all those school plays! Aus, I love you, but please never try to act ever again. For all our sakes.”

Auston grinned. “I will not be telling any of the gods to stuff himself, but the sentiment is...nice, Dad. Thanks.”

“Anytime, Aus. Ema tells me I can’t come visit your new home, so you’ll have to send me photos and describe it to me. Remember, weekly dinners! I’ll barbeque.” There was a pause. “Hey, is that rocket place near you?”

“What--JPL?”

“Yeah, that. You think your mum could work there?”

“I’m not applying to JPL, Brian,” Auston heard faintly.

“No, hear me out--rockets. My face on a sticker on a rocket. Come on, Ema, wouldn’t that be amazing?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Auston, tell her to--”

“I’m staying out of this one. I love you guys.”

“Love you too, Auston. Call us at a decent hour tomorrow, yeah?”

“Of course.”

Auston hung up, and sat to process everything for a second. Ana and Lexi had slipped away awhile ago, leaving him alone. He thought; then he went to find Connor.

“Everything okay?” Connor asked, looking up from the paperwork in his lap. He was sitting cross-legged against a wall, a clipboard holding a file of papers. “Your mom good?”

“Yeah. Mom and Dad are good. I’m--better, I guess. Less freaked. At least the Smith-Lord is a decent enough sort.”

“Well, speaking from experience, you’ll be freaked for awhile. I didn’t really accept that the god of war was my dad for years, I think.” Connor quirked a grin. “I see you’re catching onto the epithets. They mostly leave us alone if their names aren’t in vain, though.”

“I mean--I knew the Lady of Athens was my grandmother, and I grew up in the old ways. So it’s not like I’m diving into a completely new culture. I’m just...reconsidering my genetics, I guess.”

“This is true.” Connor shuffled his papers back into the folder, and pulled himself to his feet. “You want to talk to Amanda or Mitch? I don’t think there are any children of Vulcan in the legion at the moment, but your centurions could be able to help you figure out if you’ve been given a godly blessing.”

Auston rubbed at his eyes. “I think I need to figure myself out a bit,” he admitted. “And apologize to my sisters for my meltdown.”

“Hey. Your meltdown was completely warranted.”

Auston grimaced. "Doesn't feel like it."

Connor shrugged. "You'll be okay. Heritage is a messy thing around here. You got to us, and we'll handle it from there."

  
  


-|-|-|-

#  MITCH

-|-|-|-

Mitch always took extra care with Auston’s injuries. Connor he always pushed around a bit, for being an idiot to get injured in the first place, and Dylan  _ hated _ being coddled when he was injured. Auston, though, had started the Legion late and still hadn’t quite gotten over the fact that a broken bone could he healed in a matter of hours, not months.

With the revelation of Auston’s double heritage, he’d been kept under Mitch’s watchful eye in the infirmary and Dylan’s in the Fifth. No one knew what was going to happen.

“What happened?” Mitch asked. The infirmary was empty; Mitch had offered to pull the evening shift. There hadn’t been any battles or dangerous drills, and the worst he’d seen all day was a sniffly nose. Most demigods preferred to treat small injuries with the in-cabin medkits, or didn’t want to bother the head healer.

Auston grimaced, cradling his arm to his chest. He’d gotten to the infirmary under his own power, so Mitch wasn’t too worried, but he was also concerned about demigods’ tendency to downplay their injuries. “Open-weapons display. I got whacked pretty good with the blunt end of Nater’s gladius and didn't get out of the way fast enough. Uh, Nathan. Nathan Bastian.”

“I know the Bastians pretty well. They’re close with Dylan and the Strome-McLeod clan. Not surprised it was Nater, though, honestly.” Mitch got up and pulled open the curtains around an empty bed; he pulled over one of the stocked carts and draped a clean blanket over the bare mattress and sheets. Auston hovered awkwardly by the door.

“Why’s it say  _ medicus curat, natura sanat _ ?” Auston asked when Mitch went rummaging through a cabinet for some ambrosia. It was about then that Mitch realized Auston was speaking in English; with the legion, it was easy to forget who spoke what when everyone understood both. “Above the beds.”

“Hm?” Mitch straightened, a foil-wrapped package in his hands. “Oh, uh. Every division of camp has a Latin motto, tied to a guardian spell. No one’s sure when it started, but it’s been around for awhile. The healing ward is blessed with that phrase. Everywhere you see it written has been spelled to help with healing. The doctor treats; nature heals--we just give nature a bit of a boost with some magic.”

“Magic?”

“Well, powers.” Mitch gestured to the bed, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. “Rest up, we’ll be here awhile.”

Auston awkwardly sat on the edge of the bed and swung his legs up so he was resting against the pillows. Mitch wheeled his chair over and gently pulled Auston’s wrist away from where he was cradling it against his chest. He passed over the foil packet and reached for his jar of anesthetic. No reason for Auston to be in pain any longer than he had to be. Auston ate the ambrosia slowly, awkwardly with his left hand and only winced a little when Mitch daubed the cream on with gentle fingers and inspected the wrist. A spark of magic confirmed what he already instinctively thought.

“You know the Vulcan motto?” Mitch asked, to distract Auston a little. Auston had only broken the one bone, nothing Mitch couldn’t fix in half an hour. “ _ Aut viam inveniam aut faciam _ .”

“I shall either find a way or make one,” Auston recited. His face crinkled as he realized he couldn’t feel Mitch’s touch. “And the Minerva one is  _ tolle lege _ . I think they wrote them on, like, initiation packets. I didn’t know they had magic tied to them.”

“Not many people do, more out of disinterest than anything else. The Fifth Legion guards itself with  _ omnes una manet nox _ , which is either incredibly reassuring or incredibly alarming.” Auston blinked as he translated the phrase out of Latin, and winced. Mitch stilled his hands, making sure it was Auston’s understanding, rather than the sensation in his hurt wrist.

“I’m going with alarming and unnerving.”

Mitch relaxed and adjusted his grip on Auston’s forearm again. “Apollo is  _ ad astra per aspera _ . It gets morbid when you realize that’s what the put on the memorial plaques of the Apollo 1 astronauts, but we did lose two Apollo demigods on that mission, so maybe it’s fitting.” He quirked a smile. “It’s weird to think I had half-siblings in space.”

Auston nodded. Mitch’s forehead furrowed in concentration as he started healing Auston’s wrist, in little delicate bursts of magic so as not to mis-heal and require a rebreaking of the bone. “What’s Venus’?”

“ _ Pulchrum est paucorum hominum _ . Dylan keeps trying to get them to change it to  _ ubi amor, ibi dolor _ , but I don’t think he’s serious enough to actually get it to change. He’s a legacy, and they all chalk that up to his Bellona side, anyways.  _ Vox nihili _ , by the way.”

“They’re mostly silly, aren’t they?” Auston asked, then considered. “Bellona’s is terrifying.”

“You’re not wrong.” Mitch pulled his hands back from Auston’s wrist and checked his progress before continuing. “Connor, though. He’s got two big ones to live up to.  _ Cum gladio et sale _ , with sword and salt, for the Mars side, and  _ praesis ut prosis ne ut imperes _ as praetor. Lead in order to serve, not to rule.” Mitch offered a wry smile. “You know, Dylan, Connor and I have our own little saying. It’s not tied to magic like the old ones, but you’re a smart kid, maybe you’ll figure it out. Make it stick forever.”

Auston rotated his wrist. He couldn’t feel the magic that had fixed his wrist, but he knew it had happened. “Yeah, what is it?”

“ _ Illegitimi non carborundum _ .”

Auston took a second to translate that in his head and burst out laughing. “That’s not real Latin, though.”

“Isn’t it? A modern Latin saying for a modern Latin army. Don’t let the bastards get you down, Auston. Welcome to the club of--now--four people who know we say that. We’re considering tattooing that on Connor’s ass while he’s sleeping.”

“Tattoo what on my ass while I’m sleeping?” Connor leaned in the doorway to the infirmary. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, and it’s nothing,” Mitch said cheerfully. “There you go, Auston, all fixed up. Want a lollipop?”

“You heading out?” Connor asked Auston.

Auston waved his lollipop. “Yeah. All patched up.”

“Cool. I was gonna walk Mitch over to dinner, pick his brain about if the Minerva kids had figured out how to clear the web protocols again, but you’re of Vulcan, you might be able to answer that better than me. Wanna come with?” Connor winked. “I have it on good authority the kitchens made coconut cake for dessert, and I’m pretty sure we can get samples.”

“Abuse of authority,” Mitch accused, searching for his sweatshirt. “I should report you to the  _ praetor _ .”

Connor sniggered. He was easily one of Mitch’s favorite people. They’d had a rough start when Connor was still nervous about his relationship with Dylan to be jealous of every single one of Dylan’s friends. Mitch had borne the brunt of that, but four years of living in the same bunk room and another year of serving on leadership together had quickly cured that. Mitch knew that the coconut cake was one of Connor’s ways of reminding him of that.

“The praetor says coconut cake is delicious,” Connor countered. “Auston, lunch with us?”

“If you don’t mind,” Auston said easily. “I was just going to see who from the Fifth was around.”

“Your little sister?”

Auston made a face. “She thinks she’s too cool for me now.”

“Well, now we have to embarrass her,” Mitch said, and finally located his sweatshirt under one of the cots. “Ha!”

“I keep telling you to ask Dylan to help you put a locating charm on it.”

“You can do that?” Auston asked, looking skeptical.

“Well, Dylan can’t, but he knows all the Mercury kids who owe him a favor, and they can.”

-|-|-|-

Connor came into the infirmary later that evening, but he wasn’t hurt. Auston had headed off with Dylan, supposedly to work at their homework; Mitch had headed back to hold down the infirmary until 2 am, when one of his half-sisters would relieve him. He absently thought it was the youngest Staal sister, but maybe it would be Maddie Rooney. Either way, he was settled in for a quiet night when Connor slinked in, not talking.

That meant something was bothering him to the point of mild distress, and no one but Mitch knew how to handle Connor when he was like this, which sort of sucked, because the infirmary was swamped, more often than not. 

“Hey,” Mitch greeted, dropping a kiss on Connor’s forehead in passing. He put his tablet down on his desk and flipped the DO NOT DISTURB, WITH PATIENT sign on his door. “You look like you need a stiff drink and a long nap.”

Connor chuffed air through his nose, crossing his arms over his chest and settling back into the visitor’s chair outside of Mitch’s office. “I always need a stiff drink and a long nap.  This is less of a perpetual need and more of me being a dumbass and not listening to you.”

“Oh, but that’s not a perpetual thing?” Mitch laughed before setting his clipboard in the cubby hanging on the wall and stopping in front of Connor to stand in between his spread knees. “What’s bothering you, Conn?”

Connor’s arms slid around Mitch’s waist and rested his chin on Mitch’s belly so he could unleash his upset puppy dog eyes in full force. “You really think I should retire after the Winter Solstice?”

Mitch paused. He knew Connor’s posture, all legionnaires did. This was unconditional surrender, Connor literally throwing himself on Mitch’s mercy by baring his throat and clinging to Mitch’s waist. Roman soldiers for centuries had surrendered to their opponents in this way, handing over their lives, and here Connor was doing it to Mitch.

“I think,” Mitch said slowly. “You should retire when you’ve served your term. And unless something comes up, that’s after the Winter Solstice.” He carded his fingers through Connor’s hair. “Why are you asking me, Connor? Why not Dyls?”

Connor closed his eyes. “Dylan wants me to be with him,” he said. “Dylan is...scared. He doesn’t want to be legion without me. I don’t want to leave him yet, but I wouldn’t be far away. You...you won’t lie to keep me because you want me here. You’ll be honest.”

Mitch sighed; he thought that might be the case. “Yeah. You should retire. You’ll still be working with the legion, but...you should start thinking about your replacement.”

Connor was quiet. “You’re sure?”

Mitch could hear the bustle of the infirmary through the door and thought he might be needed there but he was definitely needed here more.

“ _ Ibi vinit tempus _ ,” he said to Connor. “ _ Tendit in ardua virtus _ .”

Connor sighed. “Point taken.”

-|-|-|-

#  DYLAN

-|-|-|-

 

There was a reason demigods didn’t usually have children with gods--it didn’t go well for the children at all. Their godly parentage would war with each other, and the mortal part of themselves would be overwhelmed. It usually meant that the warlike demigods would go into an uncontrollable rage and eventually have to be put down, and the scholar-like demigods would find themselves overwhelmed by concepts, ideas, and eventually lose themselves to literal insanity. Sometimes it went well--like da Vinci, famously--but the majority of times, three-quarters godly demigods fell apart. 

Auston, to his credit, was handling it well. Mitch kept a good chart on him, trying to find ways to stave off the insanity that was inherent in three-quarters godly demigods.

There were still days when that insanity tried to emerge. By this point, Dylan was used to finding a caffeine-wired Auston hyper-focused on a project in the Matthews’ shop or the Vulcan forge, always working through the wee hours of the morning and well into the day. Dylan got it, that Auston literally couldn’t help it sometimes.

It didn’t mean he liked seeing the bags underneath Auston’s eyes, or how terribly his hands trembled when he was handling the delicate little parts of some tinker project he was fiddling with.

This time, Auston had a five-day pass from the Head Praetor, and since Connor and Mitch were busy with other stuff, it fell upon Dylan to check upon Auston and make sure he hadn’t killed himself yet. This was a problem if Auston was at the shop because that meant his jerk of an older sister would be at the shop.

Dylan leaned against the wall of the Vulcan Forge. Since each of his kids had run off to spend time with their kin, to work on their respective powers and skills and to learn about their godly parent or ancestor, he didn’t really have much to do and so he’d decided to track down Auston.

Vulcan didn’t have many kids, and not a lot of them chose to stay in New Rome. Dylan knew of six direct demigods in New Rome, and maybe a dozen or so legacies. Most of them chose to appeal to the technology side of their powers, and many had chosen to work in the Valley rather than stay in New Rome. While that brought in a lot of money to keep New Rome running, it did leave some of the Vulcan demigods a little isolated. Out of the dozen and a half Vulcan descendants, maybe four still worked the forge, and Auston was now one of them.

He was the youngest there, listening eagerly as an older Vulcan legacy explained to him how to best temper the steel they used for everyday weapons. She had diagrams drawn on a whiteboard. Across the way, an elderly Vulcan demigod was blowing glass through a long pipe, laying it against his cheek between breaths. Why he was making glass was beyond Dylan, but it looked fucking cool and he wasn’t about to like, knock the little old man for it.

Auston and his teacher moved on from the whiteboard and started going over materials themselves--coal to fuel the forges, raw glass and ivory for hilts and more decorative items, bronze and steel and iron waiting to be forged into weapons, tools for their craft.

“Son of Venus,” the demigod who’d been blowing glass said. Dylan startled. “How can we help you?”

“I just came to check in on Auston,” Dylan said. Auston was running his fingers over bars of steel ready to be worked and forged, a wide smile on his face. “I think he’s doing okay.”

“Children of Vulcan don’t always take to the forge, but Auston did.” The demigod held out his hand. “Peter, son of Vulcan.”

Dylan shook it. “Dylan, grandson of Venus and Bellona.”

“You’re centurion of the Fifth and you keep breaking your gladius. We know who you are.”

Dylan flushed. “It’s not my fault?” he tried. 

“I think using your sword as a grappling hook or a boomerang is more your fault than anything else your sword does.” Peter gave him an unimpressed smile. “That, and you insult our work if you think we make our swords to break so easily.”

“Honestly, I’m just a very creative fighter, okay? I use materials to their full purpose.” Dylan crossed his arms over his chest and tried not to pout.

“Come talk to us, then, and we’ll get you the proper tools so you can stop breaking them.” Peter clapped Dylan on the shoulder. “Take care of Auston as best you can. We haven’t had such a natural smith in years, and as you can probably see, we need all the help we can get. Especially with two  _ hundred  _ of you breaking your swords left and right and only four of us.”

Auston saw Dylan and hurried over, beaming. “The steel  _ sings _ , Dylan,” he said, as excited as any time Dylan had ever seen him. “It tells me what it  _ wants  _ to be.” He was covered in coal dust and other various gritty things. There was a particular smudge under his nose that Dylan just  _ had  _ to scrub at with a spit-slick finger.

“Hold still!” Dylan pinched Auston’s sides when he squirmed. “You’re dirty all over, but it’s bothering me so  _ stop fucking moving Auston Matthews, I swear to Pluto _ -”

“I’m just going to get dirty again,” Auston protested. He was practically humming with glee. “There’s so much  _ more _ , Ariana promised she’d let me try sharpening something. I can’t forge until I know the science behind it, but there’s so  _ much  _ to learn.”

“Remember, you’ve got to go talk to the Minerva clan too,” Dylan said. He frowned and rubbed at Auston’s face again. “As a legacy.”

“Some of the children of Minerva come to work in the forge,” Peter said. He sounded like he was smiling. “And a few children of Mars like making weapons. We’re not only Vulcans here. He’ll know his Minerva family as well, don’t you worry, son of Venus.”

Auston pulled out of Dylan’s grasp. “I’ll be back for dinner and inspection, promise. I just--I gotta see how Ariana works with imperial gold, I just  _ have  _ to.”

Dylan sighed and let him go, sensing he wouldn’t win this fight.

“You’ll be at dinner, yeah? Or else you’ll be on toilet duty for a week.”

“Imperial gold, Dylan,” Auston whined, and rushed off.

Dylan sighed and went to heckle Connor.

-|-|-|-

 

Connor was glaring daggers at Dylan from the Praetor’s table, but all he could do was smile down into his steak and potatoes while Auston shifted nervously next to him. 

“Why is he so angry?” Auston asked, pushing his corn around his plate with his fork while Dylan happily munched away without abandon. “I think he’s starting to look red around the edges.”

Dylan just snorted, taking a drink of his apple soda. “He always looks red around the edges. Connor’s in a perpetual state of anger. Kind of like Bruce Banner, except Bruce Banner’s a  _ lot  _ smarter than Connor is.” He screwed up his nose and stuck his tongue out at Connor, willing his hair into a vivid green. 

Connor’s eyes turned bright gold, and the red glow became more of a red aura. Something other than Dylan’s Capture-The-Flag antics had pissed him off, and unless someone did something about it, there was going to be a war over dinner. 

“Hey, stick with the Cohort tonight. I’ll catch up with you in the morning, okay?” Dylan ruffled Auston’s newly-shortened hair before polishing off his plate and gesturing at Connor with his chin.

Amanda scoffed at Dylan. “You’re expecting me to get all these kids to bed by curfew by myself?”

Dylan rolled his eyes at her tone. “They’re big boys and girls,” he said and dumped his cutlery into his cup so he could carry it to where they stacked the dirty dishes. “I think they can tuck themselves in.”

“There’s forty of them, and at least twenty of them are supposed to be  _ your  _ problem, not mine. You can’t just bail on your duties whenever you feel like it.”

“Baby girl, if you can’t handle forty teenagers, no one can. It’ll be  _ fine _ , you’re pretty and scary all at the same time. Besides, you’ve got handsome Auston over here, and I’m confident in his ability to reign as the Supreme in my place.” Dylan smacked a kiss onto the top of Auston’s head as he passed the table.

“He’s a  _ probatio _ ,” Amanda hissed. Auston was pulling away from both of them, trying to go unnoticed. Due to the fact that he was taller than the rest of the Fifth, it wasn’t going very well. “We’re not supposed to let him go to the  _ bathroom  _ alone, much less handle any of the Fifth.”

Dylan grinned. “Well, then it’s just a gold-letter day for everyone, isn’t it?” He blew them both a kiss as he sashayed away, leaving Amanda fuming and Auston handing out resigned apologies. Across the way, at the Second’s table, Mitch was giving Dylan a disapproving glare. Dylan just waved and left the dining hall.

By the time Dylan made it out to their usual meeting spot, Connor was already hacking away and straw practice dummies with his glaive. He never got to see any sort of real action as Praetor, unless everyone else was either dead or dying and the Legion required their best fighters to come out and slay whatever evil stood in their path. 

Like always, Dylan was enamored by how lethal Connor was with his weapon. He was quick and graceful and brutally relentless all at the same time. Dylan sat down on the bottom bench of the arena, closest to where Connor was throwing his quiet fit. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” He asked, blinking a few times when Connor stopped to rip his shirt over his head and throw it to the side. “Or are you just gonna vent to that target?” 

Connor wasn’t radiating bright red anymore, but he was still flaring up like a bad sunburn victim every now and then. Like, every time he got his thoughts out of his mind, something reminded him of why he was so angry and he got hot and bothered all over again. There was more than half an hour of brutal mutilation of the perfectly good practice targets the Fourth Cohort had made after they fucked up  _ big time _ during capture the flag and had to do remedial tasks to make up for it all.

Breathing heavily, Connor threw down his glaive and walked over to the bench. Dylan met him halfway in a kiss. If this was what Connor needed, then by Pluto, Dylan could give it to him. 

“You’re okay, love. I’ve got you.” Dylan pushed his fingers through Connor’s sweaty curls and nuzzled against his cheek. He let Connor lift him up, but only kissed him again when Connor finally let their eyes meet. “Let me take care of you,” Dylan murmured.

Connor nodded dumbly, all traces of anger having left his body in favor of gazing up at Dylan with an immeasurable amount of adoration in his eyes. “Dyls,” he said, brow furrowing a little when Dylan nosed into his throat. “Dyls, you know I love you, right? You know that you are the most important part of my life.”

Dylan smoothed his hand up Connor’s chest as Connor walked them out of the arena and through the forest passage to the Praetor’s cabins. “I know. I also know that you’re extremely stressed out right now, and I’m sorry that I upset you this afternoon.”

“S’nothin’.” Connor sighed and pushed Dylan back up against a tree. He kissed him, long and slow. “I love you.”

“Yeah,” Dylan told him and slid his hands into Connor’s back pockets. “Mm. We moving this party indoors?”

Connor’s laugh, lighter than it had been all day, was all the answer Dylan needed.

-|-|-|-

#  AUSTON

-|-|-|-

Dylan stopped in front of the doors and turned to face his ragtag group of probatios. They were sweet, making an effort to line up in standard legion order. Their lines were crooked, but he wasn’t about to tell them that.

“So,” he said, clapping his hands. The grin on his face made Auston nervous, especially when Dylan’s hair faded in color to a shimmering grey, blending him into the shadows. “Today, we arm you brats. We’re going to go in and pick out your nice shiny new weapons, and leave at least twice as deadly as we came in.”

A little daughter of Bacchus whose head barely reached Auston’s elbow raised her hand. She was looking up at Dylan with big, awe-struck eyes. Someone had streaked hot pink hair chalk through her hair. Dylan beamed with pride. “Centurion Strome, are we  _ supposed  _ to be here, sir?”

“One, it’s Dylan, not Centurion Strome, anyone who calls me Centurion, sir, or anything that  _ isn’t  _ Dylan gets to clean the toilets for the next month. Two, of course not, but we’re the Fifth, we do whatever we want and get blamed for everything else. That reminds me--today, I’m also teaching you how to pick locks. Gather round, children, and let’s learn something new. Auston! You’re on guard, let me know if you see anyone coming.”

Auston scowled. “Um--”

“I’m not listening to any arguments,” Dylan said dismissively and fished an improbably large keyring out of his pockets. “Just look out for the praetors. And Amanda.”

“I’m still not--”

“Not caring!” Dylan sing-songed, and started trying keys. “So, littles, if you want to get anything around here, you’ll need to obtain some keys. The only people with complete sets are the praetors, but if you temporarily liberate them you can make copies, which is what I did.” The first five keys Dylan tried didn’t work, but the sixth went in, though it didn’t turn. “Most of the keys don’t get you anywhere fun, but one of them gets you in here, unless they changed the locks again.” He winked at one of the younger boys, who was wide-eyed and looked more than a little horrified. “I’ve got picks if they have, but I like to save that sort of fun for the third week of the summer, really.”

“Dylan--”

“Yes, my dear, sweet poor American child-”

“I think Praetor McDavid is coming this way--”

“Oh, we don’t have to worry about him.” Dylan tried another key and this time the lock clicked.

“Doesn’t he have the power to put a stop to our grand adventure?” Auston asked, voice drying out on account of how truly, ridiculously annoying Dylan could be. “I mean, I’m super excited to be breaking into the armory and all, but it’s going to get a lot less fun if we get caught by a Praetor and have to run laps in the scorching pits of the Underworld.” Some of the littles giggled nervously, looking between Dylan and Auston.

Dylan sighed huffily and thumped Auston’s forehead as he pushed past him. “Here, _you_ keep jimmying the lock, and I’ll go take care of Connor.” He dropped his illicit lock-picking kit into Auston’s waiting hands before fluffing up his hair and waltzing out from behind the grove of trees like he had full confidence that he was going to get out of this alive.

From Auston’s (short, but fruitful) experience, these encounters turned out very well, or tremendously horribly. He hushed the other campers and told them to stay there while he went and investigated. 

“--Just wanted to let them play around and get a feel for weapons they like,” Dylan was saying. “The Fifth never gets to do anything like this, and these kids are already used to being the underdogs. It’s sad, and I fucking hate it. So we were gonna try some out in the arena.” He was pressed up against Praetor McDavid’s chest with his eyes all wide and shiny and begging. 

Connor surprised Auston by tightening his hold around Dylan’s waist and kissing him. 

Auston squeaked. Dylan broke away from Connor just in time to see Auston practically sprinting back towards the group.

Auston was flustered enough that when he darted back into the group, all the hidden cell phones and games that they weren’t technically supposed to have all chimed in unison and the lock on the door popped open of its own accord. Some of the younger kids looked at him in awe--none of them had any control of their godly powers yet, and certainly not enough to affect two dozen items at once.

“How’d you do that, Auston?” One of the elder campers of the Fifth Cohort asked. His name was Nathan, and he was a son of Bellona, but hadn’t really shown any sort of aggression whatsoever. Auston supposed that came with being fourteen years old. “That was super cool!”

Smiling distractedly, Auston pushed the door open. “Don’t touch anything until Centurion Strome gets here, guys,” he said softly, chuckling a little when they all stormed the entrance. 

“That’s a week of dish duty for you, Probie.” Dylan and Connor walked into the grove of trees holding hands and smiling at Auston’s ridiculous blush. Auston had known they were dating, but it was a little different seeing it; Connor didn’t seem the sort to be publicly affectionate. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Auston ducked his head. “Sorry.”

“You’re the one dealing with the Fifth’s collective slobber,” Dylan said cheerfully. “C’mon, let’s go get you armed to the teeth. I think I’ve got a few ideas on what a son of Vulcan might like.”

“One weapon each,” Praetor McDavid said dryly. “We’re not arming them ‘to the teeth’.” He used his free hand to make air quotes and raised an eyebrow at Auston. “And we’re going over proper weapon handling and safety.”

Dylan huffed and pinched Connor’s butt when he passed. The younger campers tittered with nervous excitement, mostly over the fact that they were getting deadly weapons to play with, but also a little bit because they weren’t used to this side of Praetor McDavid. Auston could relate. He was still reeling over how deeply Connor had kissed Dylan back behind the trees. It was as though Dylan was the most precious thing in Connor’s life--delicate and breakable and treasured above all else. That kiss was probably the most intimate thing Auston had ever seen in his life, and he didn’t know whether to be embarrassed, jealous, or turned on.

Naturally, his body settled for a mixture of the three, so the entire time Dylan and Connor were talking, all Auston could think about was how pretty swollen pink Dylan’s lips were, how upset he was that Connor (or Dylan) hadn’t kissed  _ him _ , and how much he felt like a creep for even seeing it. 

“Here,” Dylan said, popping up behind Auston’s shoulder. “Let’s try you out on one of the bigger swords first, just to see how you cope with it.” He pushed a leather-handled gladius made of imperial gold into Auston’s hands, smirking when Auston skittered slightly at their fingers touching. “Considering how shit you are with a gladius.”

Auston took a couple of steps to the side so he could swing it around a little and not lop somebody’s head off. It didn’t feel right in his hand--too unbalanced. Like the tip was too heavy to hold up, even though it was a little old one-kilogram weapon. That sort of pissed him off. He wasn’t  _ weak _ . Auston could definitely use a sword just as good as anyone else in the Legion. 

Connor walked by and stopped Auston before he could wave it around. “Wait a minute, Matts. I don’t think this is the right wand for you.” He winked and took the gladius away. “That’s okay. I’m shit with a sword too.” Passing it off to a fifteen-year-old Somnus legacy, Connor guided Auston over to a different rack of weapons with a gentle hand in the small of his back. “See, my weapon, like you saw when we met, is sort of a lot different than everyone else’s. It’s called a glaive, or a polearm. Basically, I wave around a long stabby stick with a sharp knife glued to it.” 

Snorting back laughter, Auston scanned the rack before him. There were weapons that didn’t even look like weapons, but they still hummed with righteous power. Auston could feel it from where he stood. He reached out to hover his hand over a halberd that he knew he wouldn’t be able to use (it was damn near twice his size) but just so he could feel the intensity of the metal singing at him. There were endless lengths of garrote hanging in random places. Auston took one down and weighed it in his palm as he kept scanning the various weapons at his disposal.

Connor hovered for some reason, probably because he was afraid Auston would drop a mace on his foot or some shit like that. His presence was comforting. He smelled like dried sweat and sunshine and the standard camp laundry soap. 

Auston sort of wanted to turn around and hide behind Connor, but was really more enamored by all the vicious killing things calling his name. He’d do that later, probably. He passed by an entire alphabetical rack of different types of swords, ranging from broadswords to katanas to what was obviously a set of runeswords. Cooing softly, Auston reached out and took them down to examine the different markings, but immediately knew that they weren’t for him. 

“Wait here a minute,” he told Connor, turning on his heel and parting the small crowd of campers to find Nathan. “Bastian,” Auston called out, smiling giddily because the closer he got to the other camper, the more the swords thrummed. 

Nathan turned around, furrowing his eyebrows when he saw Auston approaching. He was still short, but in a way that indicated he’d be tall. He hadn’t yet hit his growth spurt, so he was no bigger than Auston had been at that age. He hoped that this camp would change the both of them for the better. 

“Here,” Auston said, trembling all over from excitement. Nathan closed his hands around the hilts, and all of a sudden, he was glowing gold. The campers gave them a wide berth, circling loosely around Auston and Nathan as though they might blow up or fight. The exception was Mikey McLeod, who looked ready to tackle Auston to the ground. “They’ve been waiting for you.” Auston put his hands on Nathan’s shoulders. “Treat them well.”

Dylan whistled through his teeth, eyes wide. Connor looked a little surprised. “That’s a nifty ability,” he said. “They, what, talk to you? Tell you who they’ll fight for?”

Auston shrugged, flushing at the attention he was getting. “Sort of? Not really. I just know what they want.” He pointed across the room to the row of gladius. “The one on the end there, she’s old and tired, she wants to be reforged. This wire here, she’s waiting for a daughter of…” He cocked his head to the side and concentrated. “Apollo, I think. Fuck--um, no, a legacy. I think.” Sighing dismissively, Auston put the wire in Dylan’s hands. “I dunno, though. They only just now started talking to me.” 

Connor furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head to the side. “You’re not losing your nut, are you?”

Huffing indignantly, Auston folded his arms across his chest. “Give me your glaive.”

“What? No!” Connor took a step back, glancing warily at the rack of glaives.

“I want to see this,” Dylan pitched in. “Hey, littles, go back to looking at your weapons, gawking isn’t polite.” The kids scattered, darting to look at weapons and whisper about what had happened to Auston and Nathan.

Auston scowled at Connor and went to the rack of glaives. He skimmed his fingers over the worn wooden handles and paused at a relatively nondescript one. The metal of it sang a shimmery, tired song. There was a little design etched at the hilt of the blade, like some kind of tribal symbol. “She’s been with you a long time,” he said, and gently lifted it. “You killed a centauride the first time you took her into real combat.” He passed the weapon to Connor gently; Connor took it and held on with a white-knuckled grip. “It’s okay. There’s no weapon in the world better suited to you. It’s like someone made her with you in mind.”

Connor looked like he’d seen a ghost. Dylan clapped slowly, looking impressed.

“The probie’s got his powers in,” Dylan said, and gestured at the room at large. “So, with all these talking weapons, which one’s for you?”

Auston stood up straight, worrying at his bottom lip. He did a three-sixty of the armory, and halted when he faced a back cabinet. 

“I don’t think-” Connor began, sounding shaky.

“Shut up, McDavid.” Dylan held him back with an outstretched arm. “Go on, Aus.”

Auston gently touched the lock on the cupboard, and it clicked open on its own. The cabinet door swung wide, revealing coils of metal and leather--wires, whips, and other various flexible weapons. There was definitely a pair of nunchaku in there, and what looked like half of a flail.

A shimmering silver coil called to Auston from the bottom shelf. He knelt down and touched the curve of the handle with his knuckle and giggled when it warmed up right away. She was the longest of them all, Auston could see. Picking the whip up from the middle coils, he stood and turned around. 

“This one,” he said. The metal hummed contentedly beneath his fingertips. “She’s new and a bit excitable, but she’s mine.”

Dylan nodded. Connor blinked, still a bit stunned. “Whips are difficult to work with,” Connor managed, and shook himself a little. “You’ll need another weapon too, something a little less unwieldy.”

“No,” Auston replied, trying to bite back his grin as he looked down at the weapon. “No, she’s all I need.”

Connor began to stiffen up, but then Dylan stepped in with a happy clap of his hands. “Okay, everyone got something murderous to play with? Let’s go to the arena!”

Auston clung to his whip, smirking. Connor gave a sharp exhale, clearly shelving his argument for later when he didn’t have to fight with Dylan. Nathan caught Auston’s attention, chatting happily about his new weapons. They were a bit big for him, and Auston could already hear Dylan talking to Connor about the best ways to train the smaller kids into their bigger weapons.

“Maybe wooden mockups,” Dylan suggested. “With lead weights. Get them used to the weight before they start handling live weapons.”

“That’s what we usually do,” Auston heard Connor snipe back. “But you just had to skip a few levels in the plan, didn’t you?”

Dylan dropped back to walk with Connor, letting the campers go ahead. Auston lingered at the back of the group, trying not to be too obvious about eavesdropping. “Yeah, baby, what is it?” He snaked his arm around Connor’s waist, smiling first at the littlest campers, then up at Connor. His face fell when he saw the thundercloud forming in the furrows of Connor’s forehead. “You’re not mad about Auston picking up an advanced weapon, are you? S’not like you did any different.” 

Connor grumbled wordlessly, rolling his eyes when Dylan’s little crooked teeth snagged on his lip as his  _ for-Connor-only  _ smile grew back. 

“You’re not cute,” he said, thumbing at the apple of Dylan’s cheek. “Not even a little bit.”

“Mm, liar.” Dylan ducked his head down a little to smooch Connor’s nose like the little shit he was. “Come on, big boy, let’s see if these kids got anything to ‘em.”

The arena was empty at the moment, seeing as the rest of camp was at assigned activities. Auston vaguely wondered what Dylan’s co-centurion was thinking at the disappearance of half her cohort.

They lined up in two neat rows of ten, Auston in the back with the older legionnaires. They all clutched their weapons with looks that ranged from sheer terror to complete and utter glee. Connor made a mental note to keep an eye on the more excitable ones. You could never be too careful with the younger kids, especially when deadly and dangerous weapons were involved.

“Right,” Connor said, coming to a stop in front of the lines. “Ranged weapons over there, swords over here. Centurion Strome--”

“Dylan, Connor,  _ Dylan _ . I’ll put you on dish duty too.”

“ _ Centurion Strome  _ will be working with those of you with ranged weapons, I’ll be with the close-quarters group. If you’ve got the hang of ‘em in the next hour or so, I might be convinced into a weapons display with Centurion Strome.” He paused. “Well? What are you waiting for? Split up.”

-|-|-|-

 

Auston watched with utter shock as Morgan Rielly from the First Cohort darted into the clearing and got walloped by the blunt of Connor’s glaive. 

“Holy shit,” Nathan whispered. “I knew Praetor McDavid was good, but rumor has it Morgan’s a candidate for Praetor when Seguin retires.”

Auston just snorted at that. He knew for a fact that Seguin wasn’t retiring anytime soon, and also that Morgan still had too much development ahead of him to be a Praetor just yet. 

“Morgan never had a chance,” he reassured Nathan. “Connor’s too fast. Plus, he charged in on his own. That was really dumb.”

Nathan furrowed his eyebrows and thumbed at the hilts of his runeswords. “Then how do  _ we  _ have a chance?”

Humming thoughtfully, Auston watched Mitch leap over the clearing boundary to carry Morgan Rielly's limp form out of harm's way. “We can’t attack Connor head-on. He’s got a guard dog.” He bit back a smile when Dylan stepped outside of the range of Connor’s glaive to chase after some campers hiding behind the inner trees with his paintball gun. “But we also can’t just swarm Dylan because Connor can get us from afar. He doesn’t move around much, except to pull Dylan back towards the flag. We’ll have to divide and conquer.”

Nathan turned to Auston, looking unimpressed. “How do we do that?”

Auston bit at his lip, thinking. “How many  _ probatios  _ have we got?”

Nathan shrugged, looking around. “In the Fifth? Twenty-five or thirty.”

“And in our half?”

“Sixteen.”

“How many little kids?”

Nathan paused, trying to figure out where Auston was going with this. “Like--little, little?”

“Younger than you little.” Auston unhooked his whips and skimmed his fingers over the warm metal, a plan starting to tick through his mind.

Nathan thought about it. “Eleven,” he said finally. “But Bridget got a concussion on the climbing wall and Little Matt is hiding from Centurion Strome since he skipped out on dish duty yesterday. And Clara won’t stop crying whenever anyone points anything sharp at her. So eight, really. Why?”

“Connor won’t hurt little kids,” Auston said. “He’s too protective for that.”

The littles looked back and forth between Connor in the clearing and Auston, standing in front of them. At least four of them looked like they were about to cry, and the rest looked confused. Nathan only had a resigned expression on his face, like he already knew what Auston was thinking and had accepted his fate. 

“All the other cohorts, they’re charging head-on,” Nathan murmured, unsheathing his left sword. “Whoever Dylan doesn’t pick off, Connor gets. Connor’s got a wide radius of attack, and Dylan doesn’t, but Dylan actually chases people down. That’s why Conn has the flag.”

The metal of Auston’s whips hummed excitedly under his palms, clamoring for battle and attack. “Exactly. Dylan gets almost everyone before they get too close. The people who do manage to get past Dylan, Connor would have no trouble with. He bonks them over the head to teach them a lesson because ninety-nine percent of the people who get past Dylan just charge him.” 

He herded his kids closer, getting them all in a huddle. 

“The plan, ladies and gentlemen and those in between, is to attack Connor’s weakness for kids. He won’t hurt anyone under the age of thirteen, which is why they’re Dylan’s main targets. If we send the elder half of our Cohort after  _ Dylan _ and get him distracted, the littles can go after Connor and just... tackle him to the ground. Pinch him. Tickle him. Do what you have to. He’s not going to hurt you.”

Nathan nodded grimly. “Clara, do you think you could lead the younger kids against Connor?” His tone was level, and suggested that it would be perfectly okay if she didn’t want to.

Clara was a wee daughter of Mercury. She was painfully shy and nearly had a nervous breakdown any time she was out of her comfort zone, which was almost always, considering where they lived and what the legion did on a daily basis. Ana held her hand half the time, as close as two peas in a pod. Just when she looked like she was about to shake her head  _ no, definitely and decidedly not _ , Ana gripped her shoulder reassuringly.

“I promise you’ll do great. It’ll be as easy as breathing. You’re a natural born survivor, Clare-Bear. All you have to do is get over there and take him down like we learned in self-defense class, remember?” Ana smiled. “Connor won’t hurt you.”

Eyes wide, Clara looked up at Auston like she trusted him with her life. She nodded, holding onto her shield with a white-knuckled grip. The other young  _ probatios  _ circled around her, whispering excitedly about how they were going to take Praetor Connor down and  _ not get in trouble for it _ .

Auston turned to the older members of the Fifth. Including himself and Nathan, there were eight of them, armed with weapons ranging from Auston’s whip to McLeod’s short-range hunting knives.

“So, McLeod,” he said, and looked around for a stick to draw in the dirt with. Finding a suitable one, he sketched out a rough map of the clearing. “Connor’s here, right?” He tapped the stick in the middle of the clearing, more or less where Connor was standing with the flag and his glaive. “And Dylan’s everywhere.”

Nathan was looking between Auston’s map and the actual clearing, where Dylan had just splattered half the Fourth with paintball pellets and Connor had just knocked one of the Pluton kids over the head with the pole end of his glaive.

“So we charge Dylan so the littles can get to Connor?” McLeod said, raising an eyebrow. “That hasn’t worked for anyone so far.”

Auston could see Nathan make a face behind Mikey back and chose not to draw attention to it, knowing how loud the fights between Mikey and Nathan could get when either of them really got going. “You guys just need to distract him from the kids so they can get to Connor. I’ll take care of Dylan.”

“Yeah?” McLeod crossed his arms over his chest. Abby, who played goalie for the Fifth’s rec ball hockey team, elbowed him. “How?”

“What does it  _ matter _ ?” Nathan hissed, nose wrinkling up in distaste. “If he says he has it, then he’ll fucking make sure it’s taken care of.”

“Language,” Auston said absently, even though he’d been using much worse words since he was much younger than Nathan. “I’ve got a whip, McLeod. I was planning on knocking his gun out of his hands so one of us could tackle him and keep him down.”

“Oh,” McLeod said. “That might work. Just--tackle them? Wouldn’t that be stupid in a real fight?”

“Well, this isn’t a real fight. Why treat it like one? This is capture the flag, and playing by the rules is how everyone loses. Our opponents out in the real world won’t be playing by the rules, so why should we?” Auston grinned. “Alright, Fifth. Set up and wait for the whistle.”

The Fifth dispersed. Auston sheathed his gladius and unhooked his whip from his belt. She sang, in harmony with the other excited weapons. He wondered if he could give them a talking to and make them not hurt friendlies in training exercises, and decided now wasn’t the time to try.

When the whistle blew, the Fifth surged forth.

They were celebrating their victory when Taylor Crosby stumbled into the training clearing, gasping. Her hands were smeared with blood, and she had smudges of dirt and blood on her shirt. “Connor. Connor, I need to talk to you  _ now _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> This is planned to be a three part series. Part two is halfway written and part 3 is outlined with key scenes written. I hope to have part two up within the month!
> 
> Come chat with me on tumblr at satellitesandfallingstars!


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